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BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


CLEVER   BETSY 


SHE  SANK.  INTO  THE  ARMS  THAT  CLASPED   HER 


CLEVER  BETSY 

A  Novel 

by 
Clara  Louise  Burnham 

With  Illustrations  by 
Rose  O'Neill 


BOSTON    AND    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

re$#  Cambridge 
1910 


IffiLIV  OF  CALIFORNIA 


COPYRIGHT,    igiO,    BY    CLARA    LOUISE    BURNHAM 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  September  iqio 


CONTENTS 

I.    OPENING  THE  COTTAGE          .  .         .       I 

II.    MISTRESS  AND  MAID           .  .         .         16 

III.  IRVING  BRUCE      .  » • .      .         .  .         -27 

IV.  MRS.    POGRAM    CONFIDES       ...  38 

V.    ROSALIE  VINCENT  .         .         .  .         -47 

VI.   THE  LAST  STAGE        ,         ...         62 

VII.   THE  NATIONAL  PARK    .         .  .         -75 

VIII.    THE  BLONDE  HEAVER        .  .         .         87 

IX.   THE  FOUNTAIN  HOUSE           .  .         .  102 

X.   ON  THE  RIVERSIDE    .         ,  .         .       117 

XI.    FACE  TO  FACE       .         ,         .  .         -131 

XII.   THE  FAITHFUL  GEYSER      .  .         .       150 

XIII.  THE  HEIRESS         .         .         .  .         .160 

XIV.  THE  LOOKOUT    .         .     ;;  .  .        .       176 
XV.   AN  EXODUS    .        .         .         .  .         .189 

XVI.    BETSY'S  GIFT     .        .     ,..  ";        .      202 

XVII.   SUNRISE          ...         .  .         .  217 

XVIII.   HOMEWARD  BOUND    ....       232 

v 


Contents 


XIX.   MRS.  BRUCE'S  HEADACHE  .         .  246 

XX.    BETSY'S  APPEAL      .  .         ,         .       258 

XXI.   A  RAINY  EVENING      .  .        ,         .  270 

XXII.   THE  WHITE  DOVE  .       ....       .       282 

XXIII.  THE  DANCE         .         .  .         .         .296 

XXIV.  THE  CLASH      .         .  « :. ,      .      ;  •       313 
XXV.    WHITE  SWEET  PEAS  ,         *  .      .  327 

XXVI.    IN  BETSY'S  ROOM  ..       .         .       338 

XXVII.    BETSY  RECEIVES         >  .         ,         .  355 

XXVIII.    GOOD-BY,  SUMMER  ,.      ,  .      -  .       369 

XXIX.   THE  NEW  YEAR  .  387 


CLEVER   BETSY 


CLEVER  BETSY 

CHAPTER  I 

OPENING  THE   COTTAGE 

"HELLO  there!"  The  man  with  grizzled  hair 
and  bronzed  face  under  a  shabby  yachting-cap 
stopped  in  his  leisurely  ramble  up  the  street  of 
a  seaport  village,  and  his  eyes  lighted  at  sight 
of  a  spare  feminine  figure,  whose  lean  vigorous 
arms  were  shaking  a  long  narrow  rug  at  a  cot 
tage  gate.  "  Ahoy  there  —  The  Clever  Betsy ! " 
he  went  on. 

The  energetic  woman  vouchsafed  a  sidewise 
twist  of  her  mouth  intended  for  a  smile,  but 
did  not  cease  from  her  labors,  and  a  cloud  of 
dust  met  the  hastened  approach  of  the  seaman. 

"Here,  there's  enough  o'  that!  Don't  you 
know  your  captain?"  he  went  on,  dodging  the 
woolen  fringe  which  snapped  near  his  dark 
cheek. 

"My  captain!"  retorted  the  energetic  one, 
while  the  rug  billowed  still  more  wildly.  She 
was  a  woman  of  his  own  middle  age,  and  the 
cloth  tied  around  her  head  did  not  add  to  her 


Clever  Betsy 


charms;  but  the  man's  eyes  softened  as  they 
rested  on  her. 

"Here!  You  carry  too  much  sail.  Take  a 
reef!"  he  cried;  and  deftly  snatching  the  rug, 
in  an  instant  it  was  trailing  on  the  walk  be 
hind  him,  while  Betsy  Foster  stared,  offended. 

uHow  long  ye  been  here,  Betsy?" 

"A  couple  o'  days,"  replied  the  woman,  ad 
justing  the  cheese-cloth  covering  more  firmly 
behind  her  ears. 

"Why  didn't  ye  let  a  feller  know?" 

"Thought  I  wouldn't  trouble  trouble  till 
trouble  troubled  me." 

The  man  smiled.  "The  Clever  Betsy,"  he 
said  musingly.  They  regarded  one  another  for 
a  silent  moment.  "Why  ain't  ye  ever  clever  to 
me?" 

She  sniffed. 

"Why  don't  ye  fat  up  some  ?"  he  asked  again. 

"If  I  was  as  lazy  as  you  are,  probably  I 
should,"  she  returned,  with  the  sidewise  grim 
ace  appearing  again,  and  the  breeze  from  the 
wide  ocean  a  stone's  throw  away  ruffling  the 
sparse  straight  locks  that  escaped  from  her 
headdress. 

"Coin'  to  marry  me  this  time,  Betsy?" 

"No." 


Opening  the  Cottage 


"Why  not?" 

"Same  old  reason." 

"But  I  tell  ye,"  said  the  man,  in  half- 
humorous,  half-earnest  appeal,  "I've  told  ye  a 
dozen  times  I  did  n't  know  which  I  liked  best 
then.  If  you'd  happened  to  go  home  from 
singin'-school  with  me  that  night  it  would  'a' 
ben  you." 

"And  I  say  it  ain't  proper  respect  to  Annie's 
memory  for  you  to  talk  that  way." 

"I  ain't  disrespectful.  There  never  were 
two  such  nice  girls  in  one  village  before.  I 
nearly  grew  wall-eyed  tryin'  to  look  at  you 
both  at  once.  Annie  and  I  were  happy  as  clams 
for  fifteen  years.  She's  been  gone  five,  and 
I've  asked  ye  four  separate  times  if  you'd  go 
down  the  hill  o'  life  with  me,  and  there  ain't 
any  sense  in  your  refusin'  and  flappin'  rugs  in 
my  face." 

"You  know  I  don't  like  this  sort  o'  foolin', 
Hiram.  I  wish  you'd  be  done  with  it." 

"I  ain't  ever  goin'  to  be  done  with  it,  Betsy, 
not  while  you  live  and  I  live." 

"Have  some  sense,"  she  rejoined.  "We 
both  made  our  choice  when  we  were  young  and 
we  must  abide  by  it  —  both  of  us." 

"You  didn't  marry  the  Bruce  family." 
3 


Clever  Betsy 


"  I  did,  too." 

Betsy  Foster's  eyes,  suddenly  reminiscent, 
did  not  suit  in  their  expression  the  brusqueness 
of  her  tone.  She  saw  again  her  young  self, 
heart-sick  with  the  disappointment  of  her  girl 
ish  fancy,  leaving  this  little  village  for  the  city, 
and  finding  a  haven  with  the  bride  who  be 
came  her  friend  as  well  as  mistress. 

"I  did,  too,"  she  repeated.  "It  was  my  sil 
ver  weddin'  only  last  week,  when  Mr.  Irving 
had  his  twenty-fourth  birthday." 

"Is  Irving  that  old?  Bless  me!  Then," 
hopefully,  "if  he's  twenty-four  he  don't  need 
to  be  tied  to  your  apron-strings.  Strikes  me 
you're  as  much  of  a  widow  as  I  am  a  widower. 
There  ain't  many  o'  the  Bruce  family  left  for 
you  to  be  married  to.  After  Irving's  mother 
died,  I  can  see  plain  enough  why  you  were  a 
lot  o'  help  to  Mr.  Bruce;  but  when  he  married 
again  you  did  n't  have  any  call  to  look  after 
him  any  longer;  and  seein'  he  died  about  the 
same  time  poor  Annie  did,  you  Ve  been  free  as 
air  these  five  years.  You  don't  need  to  pretend 
you  think  such  an  awful  lot  o'  the  widder 
Bruce,  'cause  I  know  ye  don't.  Don't  ye  sup 
pose  I  remember  how  all  your  feathers  stood 
on  end  when  Mr.  Bruce  married  her?" 


Opening  the  Cottage 


Betsy  gave  a  fleeting  glance  over  her  shoul 
der  toward  the  window  of  the  cottage. 

"'T  was  n't  natural  that  I  should  want  to 
see  anybody  in  Irving's  mother's  place,  but 
she's- 

"I  remember  as  if  'twas  yesterday,"  inter 
rupted  Hiram,  "how  you  said  'twas  Irving  she 
married  him  for;  how  that  she  could  never 
keep  her  fingers  out  of  any  pie,  and  she  did  n't 
like  the  hats  Mr.  Bruce  bought  for  Irving,  so 
she  married  him  to  choose  'em  herself." 

Betsy's  lips  twitched  in  a  short  laugh. 
"Well,  I  guess  there  was  somethin'  in  that," 
she  answered. 

Hiram  pursued  what  he  considered  his  ad 
vantage.  "When  Irving  was  on  the  football 
team  at  college,  you  told  me  yourself,  standin' 
right  by  this  gate,  that  she  'd  go  to  the  game, 
and  when  she  was  n't  faintin'  because  he  was 
knocked  out,  she  was  hollerin'  at  him  how  to 
play." 

Betsy  bridled.  "Well,  what's  all  this  for?" 
she  demanded. 

"It's  to  show  you  plain  as  the  nose  on  your 
face  that  if  you  ever  was  married  to  the  Bruce 
family  you're  a  widder  now;  just  as  much  as 
I'm  a  widower." 


Clever  Betsy 


"No,  sir,  for  better  or  for  worse,"  returned 
Betsy  doggedly. 

"Get  out.  They're  dead,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bruce,  both  dead;  and  the  widder  Bruce  no- 
thin'  at  all  to  you." 

"  Stepmother  to  Mr.  Irving,"  declared 
Betsy. 

"Well,  he's  used  to  it  by  this  time.  Had 
twelve  years  of  it.  Holy  mackerel,  that  kid 
twenty-four!  I  can't  realize  it.  His  mo- 
ther- 

"No,  no,"  said  Betsy  quickly. 

"Well,  she  anyway,  Mrs.  Bruce,  went  over 
to  Europe  to  meet  him  last  year,  did  n't  she, 
when  she  took  you?" 

"Of  course  she  did.  He  went  abroad  when  he 
left  college,  and  do  you  suppose  she  could 
stand  it  not  to  be  in  part  of  his  trip  and  tell 
him  what  to  do?" 

"There  now!  It's  plain  how  you  feel  toward 
that  member  o'  the  family." 

"But  I  told  you,  did  n't  I  ?  Can't  you  under 
stand  English?  I  told  you  'for  better  or  for 


worse} 


"Go  'long,  Betsy,  go  'long!  That  husky 
football  hero  don't  need  you  to  fight  his  bat 
tles.  If  she  presses  him  too  hard,  he'll  get  mar- 

6 


Opening  the  Cottage 


ried  himself,  I  guess  he's  got  a  pretty  solid 
place  in  the  bank.  When  did  you  get  back?" 

" A  month  ago." 

"Mrs.  Bruce  come  down  here  with  you?" 

Hiram's  eyes  as  he  asked  the  question  left  his 
companion's  face  for  the  first  time,  and  roved 
toward  the  windows  of  the  cottage  retreating 
amid  its  greenery. 

As  if  his  question  had  evoked  the  appari 
tion,  a  light-haired  lady  suddenly  appeared  in 
the  open  doorway.  She  was  a  woman  of  about 
forty-five  years,  but  her  blonde  hair  concealed 
its  occasional  silver  threads,  and  her  figure 
was  girlishly  slender.  She  regarded  the  couple 
for  a  moment  through  her  gold  eye-glasses,  and 
then  came  down  the  steps  and  through  the 
garden-path. 

"  I  thought  I  could  n't  be  mistaken,  Captain 
Salter,"  she  said  graciously,  extending  one 
hand,  ringed  and  sparkling,  and  with  the  other 
protecting  the  waves  of  her  carefully  dressed 
hair  from  the  boisterous  breeze. 

The  captain,  continuing  to  trail  the  rug  be 
hind  him,  touched  his  cap  and  allowed  his 
rough  fingers  to  be  taken  for  a  moment. 

"The  Clever  Betsy  here  was  carrying  too 
much  sail,"  he  explained.  "I  took  'em  down." 

7 


Clever  Betsy 


Mrs.  Bruce  laughed  amiably. 

"And  found  you'd  run  into  a  squall,  no 
doubt,"  she  responded,  observing  her  hand 
maid's  reddened  countenance. 

Mrs.  Bruce's  eyes  could  be  best  described  as 
busy.  There  was  nothing  subtle  about  her 
glances.  She  made  it  quite  evident  that  no 
thing  escaped  her,  and  the  trim  exactness  of 
her  dress  and  appearance  seemed  to  match  her 
observations. 

"It  seems  good  to  be  back  in  Fairport,"  she 
went  on.  "One  summer's  absence  is  quite 
enough,  though  I  plan  to  slip  away  just  for  a 
little  while  to  take  a  look  at  the  Yellowstone 
this  year." 

"That  so?  Should  think  you'd  had  travelin' 
enough  for  one  spell,"  rejoined  Hiram. 

"Oh,  it's  an  appetite  that  grows  with  what 
it  feeds  on,  Captain  Salter.  I  dare  say  you 
have  been  a  rover,  too.  I  know  how  all  you 
sea-captains  are." 

"No  'm.  My  line's  ben  fish,  mostly." 

"And,"  added  Mrs.  Bruce,  "taking  care  of 
us  poor  land-lubbers  in  summer.  My  son  was 
well  satisfied  with  your  sale  of  his  boat.  I  don't 
know  whether  he  will  get  another  this  summer 
or  not.  You'll  be  here  as  usual,  I  hope?" 

8 


Opening  the  Cottage 


"Looks  that  way." 

"I'm  glad.  I'm  positively  attached  to  the 
Gentle  Annie." 

"Haven't  got  her  no  more,"  returned 
Hiram  quietly.  "I've  parted  with  her." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry.  I  suppose  the  new  one's 
better." 

"Well,  she's  just  as  good,  anyway." 

"  But  if  she 's  not  better,  I  don't  see  why  you 
let  the  Annie  go." 

"'Taint  always  in  our  power  to  hold  on  to 
things  when  we'd  like  to,"  responded  Hiram 
equably. 

Mrs.  Bruce's  eyes  shone  with  interest  behind 
her  bi-focals.  "Poor  man!"  she  thought. 
"How  improvident  these  ignorant  people  are! 
Probably  went  into  debt,  and  had  to  lose  his 
boat,  and  calculated  on  doing  enough  business 
this  summer  to  pay  for  the  new  one." 

"And  what,"  she  asked,  with  an  air  of  gra 
cious  patronage,  "will  you  call  this  one?  Gen 
tle  Annie  second,  of  course." 

He  shook  his  head,  his  sea-blue  eyes  fixed 
intrepidly  on  the  object  of  his  affections,  who 
regarded  him  threateningly. 

"Can't  be  any  Annie  second,"  he  returned 
quietly. 

9 


Clever  Betsy 


"Now  I  think  you  make  a  great  mistake, 
Captain  Salter,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce,  with  vigor. 
"For  your  own  welfare  I  feel  you  ought  to 
keep  that  name.  The  summer  people  have 
been  attached  to  the  Gentle  Annie  so  long,  and 
had  such  confidence  in  her." 

Hiram  nodded;  but  Mrs.  Bruce  could  not 
catch  his  fixed  eye  as  she  wished,  to  emphasize 
her  point. 

"They  were  right,"  he  answered.  "She  was 
a  good  craft." 

"Confidence  in  her  and  you  too,  I  should 
have  said,  of  course,"  went  on  the  lady. 

"Yes,  we  sort  o'  went  together,  pretty  com 
fortable;  but  —  well,  I've  lost  her." 

"Yes,  but  there's  a  good-will  goes  with  the 
name.  You  make  a  great  mistake  not  to  keep 
it.  Captain  Salter  and  the  Gentle  Annie;  peo 
ple  have  said  it  so  many  years  and  had  all  their 
sails  and  their  picnics  and  clambakes  with 
you,  it's  like  throwing  away  capital  for  you  to 
take  a  new  name  for  your  boat.  Now  if  you 
have  n't  already  had  it  put  on  — " 

"I  have." 

Hiram's  eyes  were  steady,  and  his  lady-love 
was  nervously  fighting  with  the  jealous  wind 
for  her  cheese-cloth  headdress,  her  face  ap- 

10 


Opening  the  Cottage 


parently  flushed  by  the  effort,  and  her  eyes 
defiant. 

"What  have  you  named  her?"  asked  Mrs. 
Bruce,  in  disapproval. 

"The  Clever  Betsy." 

"  I  don't  like  it,  emphatically.  It  seems  very 
strange,  and  it  will  to  everybody." 

"Yes,  at  first,"  rejoined  Hiram  imperturb- 
ably,  "but  you  can  get  used  to  anything.  It 
used  to  be  Captain  Salter  and  the  Gentle 
Annie;  but  in  future  it's  goin'  to  be  Captain 
Salter  and  the  Clever  Betsy;  and  after  a  while 
that's  goin'  to  seem  just  as  natural  as  the 
other." 

The  speaker  continued  to  rest  his  gaze  on 
the  narrow  reddened  countenance,  which 
looked  back  furiously. 

Mrs.  Bruce  attributed  his  averted  face  to 
shyness,  but  the  direction  of  his  glance  gave 
her  an  idea. 

"Well,  I'm  sure,  Betsy,  you  should  be 
pleased,"  she  remarked.  "One  might  think  the 
boat  was  named  for  you." 

"  Betsy  was  n't  ever  clever  to  me,"   said 
Hiram  calmly.    "  She  began  spellin'  me  down 
at  school  here  when  we  were  children,  and 
she's  ben  spellin'  me  down  ever  since." 
'11 


Clever  Betsy 


Mrs.  Bruce  looked  curiously  at  the  frown 
ing  countenance  of  the  capable  woman  who 
had  meant  so  much  in  her  husband's  house 
hold. 

"  Just  like  a  snapdragon  always,"  went  on 
Hiram  slowly;  "touch  her  and  she'd  fly  all  to 
pieces;  and  I  guess  you  put  on  the  finishin' 
touch,  takin'  her  to  Europe,  Mrs.  Bruce.  She's 
so  toploftical  to-day  that  she  won't  scarcely 
speak  to  me." 

"Betsy  was  a  good  traveler;  I  wouldn't  ask 
a  better,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce  absently.  The  sub 
ject  of  the  boat's  name  rankled.  Her  desire  to 
coerce  humanity  for  its  own  good  was  like  a 
fire  always  laid  and  ready  to  be  kindled,  and 
Hiram  had  applied  the  match. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  new  name, 
Betsy?  Don't  you  think  your  old  friend  would 
have  done  better  to  stick  to  the  Gentle 
Annie?" 

"  That 's  exactly  what  I  think,"  was  the 
explosive  response.  "That's  the  only  name 
that  '11  ever  be  connected  with  Cap'n  Salter  in 
this  world,  and  he'd  better  make  the  most  of 
it.  Hiram,  if  you're  perishin'  to  wear  a  trail 
I  '11  make  you  one  out  o'  paper-cambric.  Give 
me  my  rug.  I  want  to  go  in  the  house." 

12 


Opening  the  Cottage 


Salter  motioned  toward  the  speaker  with  his 
head,  then  met  Mrs.  Bruce's  eyes. 

"  You  heard?"  he  said.  "  That's  what  I  say. 
Snappy,  snappy." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce  impres 
sively,  "that  it's  painted  on.  It's  a  bad  idea 
and  won't  bring  you  luck." 

"  Well  now,  we'll  see,"  rejoined  Hiram.  "I 
feel  just  the  other  way  round.  I  think  it's  a 
good  idea  and  will  bring  me  luck.  Folks  '11  be 
gin  to  say  Cap'n  Salter  and  the  Clever  Betsy, 
Cap'n  Salter  and  the  Clever  Betsy,  and  first 
news  you  know  there'll  be  — " 

He  paused.  Lightnings  would  have  shot 
from  Betsy  Foster's  eyes  had  they  been  able 
to  express  all  she  felt;  but  the  audacity  of  his 
look  and  manner  conveyed  a  totally  new  idea 
to  Mrs.  Bruce. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  both  come  out  with  me  this 
afternoon,"  he  went  on.  "I'll  show  you  just 
what  a  good,  reliable,  faithful  craft  I've  got. 
A  bit  unsteady  sometimes,  mebbe,  but  that's 
only  because  she's  smart  and  sassy;  she  always 
comes  up  to  the  mark  in  an  emergency,  and 
never  goes  back  on  her  skipper.  She's  fast, 
too,  and  — " 

"SailinM"  interrupted  Betsy,  unable  to 
13 


Clever  Betsy 


endure  another  moment.  "  I  guess  if  you  saw 
the  inside  o'  that  cottage  you  would  n't  talk 
to  me  about  sailin'.  If  you're  so  fond  of  pea- 
cockin'  with  that  rug,  I  won't  deprive  you  of 
it.  You  can  leave  it  on  the  step  when  you  get 
through." 

Mrs.  Bruce's  idea  received  confirmation  by 
Betsy's  manner  and  her  precipitate  departure 
up  the  garden-path,  and  she  looked  at  Hiram 
Salter  blankly.  Betsy  Foster  was  the  prop  of 
her  household.  She  was  the  property  of  the 
Bruce  family.  Did  this  man  suppose  for  one 
moment  that  just  because  they  had  gone  to 
school  together,  he  could  remove  her  from  her 
useful  position?  What  a  selfish,  impossible 
thought!  Of  course  the  man  was  n't  in  love 
with  Betsy.  Nobody  could  be  in  love  with  such 
a  severely  plain  creature;  and  yet  that  fancy 
of  the  new  boat  and  the  new  name!  It  argued 
a  plan  of  wooing  which  had  some  poetry  in  it. 

Here  was  an  affair  which  Mrs.  Bruce  would 
certainly  stop  with  a  high  hand  if  there  were 
any  real  threat  in  it;  but  fortunately  Betsy 
would  consider  it  as  unthinkable  as  she  herself. 
If  ever  displeasure  was  writ  large  all  over  a 
woman  it  had  been  evident  in  Betsy  Foster 
throughout  the  interview. 


Opening  the  Cottage 


After  a  short  reflective  silence  during  which, 
both  hands  behind  him,  her  companion  waved 
the  rug  in  gentle  ripples,  and  met  her  gaze 
with  an  undisturbed  smile,  she  spoke. 

"Do  take  my  advice  still,  Captain  Salter," 
she  said.  "  Wipe  out  the  Clever  Betsy  and  go 
back  to  the  Gentle  Annie." 


CHAPTER  II 

MISTRESS   AND   MAID 

MRS.  BRUCE  remained  with  the  captain  at  the 
gate  for  fifteen  minutes  longer  before  she  re- 
entered  the  house.  Hiram  came  as  far  as  the 
door  with  her  and  laid  the  rug  inside.  He 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Betsy,  stormily  dusting 
and  polishing  in  the  living-room,  but  con 
tented  himself  with  touching  his  cap  to  Mrs. 
Bruce,  and  disappearing  down  the  garden 
path. 

That  lady  looked  sharply  at  her  factotum 
as  she  entered  the  room.  Mankind  loves  a  lover 
undoubtedly,  as  a  rule;  but  there  are  excep 
tions.  Mrs.  Bruce  decidedly  did  not  love  any 
body  who  proposed  to  deprive  her  of  her  right 
hand:  cook,  waitress,  lady's  maid,  house 
keeper,  either  of  which  posts  Betsy  was  cap 
able  of  filling  in  the  defection  of  the  regular 
incumbent. 

Betsy  was  a  none-such,  and  Mrs.  Bruce 
knew  it  sufficiently  well  to  have  swallowed 
her  wrath  on  many  previous  occasions  when 

16 


Mistress  and  Maid 


her  strong  will  had  collided  with  that  of  her 
handmaid.  During  her  husband's  lifetime 
Mrs.  Bruce  had  discharged  the  New  England 
woman  several  times  in  her  most  magnificent 
manner;  but  the  ebullition  had  not  been 
noticed  by  Betsy,  who  pursued  the  even  tenor 
of  her  way  as  one  who  had  more  important 
matters  to  think  of.  Since  Mr.  Bruce's  death 
his  widow  had  not  proceeded  to  such  lengths, 
some  intuition  perhaps  warning  her  that  the 
spiritual  cable  which  held  the  none-such  to 
her  service  had  lost  its  strongest  strands  and 
would  not  stand  a  strain. 

She  looked  at  the  faithful  woman  now  with 
a  new  curiosity.  Mankind  loves  a  lover.  Yes, 
of  course;  but  Betsy  could  n't  have  a  lover! 
The  cheese-cloth  binding  the  hair  away  from 
the  high  sallow  forehead,  taken  in  connection 
with  the  prominent  thin  nose  and  retreating 
chin,  presented  the  class  of  profile  which  ex 
plains  the  curious  human  semblance  taken 
on  by  a  walnut  when  similarly  coiffed.  No  — 
that  designing  sailor  was  tired  of  living  alone. 
He  wanted  a  housekeeper  and  a  cook.  How 
did  he  dare!  Quite  a  blaze  of  indignation 
mounted  in  the  breast  of  Betsy's  fortunate 
owner.  What  a  blessed  thing  that  Betsy  was 

17 


Clever  Betsy 


the  sort  of  woman  who  could  see  into  a  mill 
stone  and  could  be  trusted  to  flout  her  deceit 
ful  wooer  to  the  end.  Mrs.  Bruce  spoke  with 
gracious  playfulness. 

"You  never  told  me  Captain  Salter  was  a 
beau  of  yours,  Betsy." 

The  other  did  not  cease  to  beat  up  the  cush 
ions  of  the  wicker  chairs. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  ever  did  take  the  time 
to  reg'larly  sit  down  and  give  you  my  history, 
Mrs.  Bruce,"  was  the  reply. 

And  that  lady  took  a  few  moments  to  reflect 
upon  the  spirit  of  the  crisp  words,  finally  de 
ciding  to  veer  away  from  the  subject. 

"Now  what  can  I  do  to  help  you,  Betsy? 
I  know -you  want  everything  spick  and  span 
before  that  cook  comes  to-morrow." 

Betsy  looked  up. 

"I've  laid  the  silver  out  there  on  the  dining- 
room  table.  You  might  clean  it.  Here,  let  me 
put  this  apron  on  you."  And  abruptly  aban 
doning  the  cushions,  the  speaker  hurried  into 
the  dining-room,  divided  from  the  living- 
room  only  by  an  imaginary  line,  and  seizing 
an  enveloping  gingham  apron,  concealed  Mrs. 
Bruce's  trim  China  silk  from  head  to  foot. 

The  mistress   sat  down  at  the  table  and 
18 


Mistress  and  Maid 


opened  the  silver-polish,  and  Betsy  returned 
to  her  work. 

"I've  been  asking  Captain  Salter  about  the 
neighbors,  and  especially  about  my  little 
protegee." 

"Which  one?  Oh,  you  mean  Mrs.  Pogram's 
girl!" 

"Yes,  Rosalie  Vincent.  With  that  name 
and  her  pretty  face  and  graceful  figure,  it  did 
seem  too  bad  that  she  should  n't  have  her 
chance.  I  remember,  though,  you  did  n't  alto 
gether  approve  of  my  sending  her  away  from 
washing  Mrs.  Pogram's  dishes." 

"Washin'  Mrs.  Pogram's  dishes  was  real 
safe,"  returned  Betsy.  "Rosalie  was  pretty, 
and  poor,  and  young;  and  that's  a  combina 
tion  that  had  better  stay  right  in  the  home 
village  under  some  good  woman's  wing.  Mrs. 
Pogram  's  a  clever  soul,  though  some  like 
putty.  If  she  had  n't  been,  she  would  n't  have 
spared  Rosalie,  I  s'pose." 

"Qh,  it  was  n't  for  long,"  replied  Mrs. 
Bruce.  "I  thought  it  only  fair  that  the  child 
should  have  one  season's  course  in  English, 
with  such  a  yearning  as  she  had  after  poetry 
and  all  things  poetical.  Such  a  doom  as  it 
seemed  to  be  to  peel  Mrs.  Pogram's  vegetables 

19 


Clever  Betsy 


and  wash  her  dishes.  I  can  always  discern 
an  artist,"  added  Mrs.  Bruce  complacently, 
"  even  in  the  most  unlikely  places;  and  that 
girl  had  a  touch  of  the  divine  fire.  I  recognized 
it  that  day  when  she  recited  the  bit  of  Brown 
ing  up  here." 

Betsy's  eyes  happening  to  fall  on  the  silver- 
polish,  she  remarked  dryly. 

"Well,  whitin'  's  safer  than  Browrnin'  for 
her  sort,  and  I  thought  she  was  contented 
enough." 

Betsy's  two-year-old  disapproval  of  this  one 
of  her  mistress's  undertakings  revived.  Edu 
cation  was  a  good  thing,  without  doubt,  but 
according  to  Betsy's  judgment  it  was  best, 
under  circumstances  of  such  dependence  as 
existed  with  Mrs.  Pogram's  pretty  adopted 
child,  to  let  well  enough  alone.  Mrs.  Pogram's 
principal  motive  in  giving  the  girl  a  home 
had  been  the  material  help  she  could  render, 
and  it  was  a  doubtful  experiment  to  send  her 
to  the  new  environment  of  the  city,  and  the 
novel  companionship  of  her  fellow  students, 
unless  her  benefactress  intended  to  prolong 
her  watch  over  the  young  girl's  fortunes;  and 
this  Betsy  knew  would  not  be  the  case;  for 
long  before  Rosalie's  term  of  study  was  ended, 

20 


Mistress  and  Maid 


Mrs.  Bruce's  energies  would  be  directed  toward 
superintending  the  affairs  of  somebody  else. 
The  girl's  grateful  letters  had  begun  to  be 
ignored  some  time  before  Mrs.  Bruce  joined 
her  adored  boy  in  Europe;  and  it  is  doubt 
ful  when  she  would  have  thought  again  of 
Rosalie  Vincent,  had  she  not  returned  to 
the  village  where  the  young  girl  had  attracted 
her  fleeting  fancy. 

"I  gave  her  the  wings  to  soar,"  she  now 
added  virtuously,  "and  I  inquired  of  Captain 
Salter  if  she  had  used  them.  I  found  his 
report  quite  unsatisfactory." 

"Why,  where  is  Rosalie?"  asked  Betsy 
quickly,  stopping  her  labors  in  the  interest  of 
her  query. 

"Captain  Salter  wasn't  sure.  He  said  he 
supposed  Mrs.  Pogram  knew,  but  there  had 
been  some  recent  quarrel  with  a  brother  of 
Mrs.  Pogram's  and  it  had  ended  in  Rosalie's 
going  away." 

"Soarin',  perhaps,"  remarked  Betsy  dryly, 
grasping  the  legs  of  an  unoffending  table  and 
giving  it  vicious  tweaks  with  the  dust-cloth. 
"Just  as  well  folks  should  n't  be  given  wings 
sometimes,  in  my  opinion.  When  a  bird's  got 
plumage  like  Rosalie's,  it'd  better  stick  to  the 

21 


Clever  Betsy 


long  grass.  The  world's  just  full  o'  folks  that 
if  they  catch  sight  o'  the  brightness  never  rest 
till  they  get  a  shot  at  it  and  drag  it  down." 

"Was  she  so  pretty?  Let's  see,  was  she 
dark  or  light?  Oh,  I  remember  her  hair  was 
blonde." 

Betsy  gave  one  look  at  her  employer.  It 
was  entirely  characteristic  that  two  years 
should  have  sunk  the  village  girl's  memory  in 
a  haze. 

Mrs.  Bruce  sighed  and  began  to  polish  an 
other  fork,  "It  seldom  pays  to  try  to  help 
people,"  she  said.  "I  distinctly  remember  the 
girl  had  talent,  and  I  thought  she  might  get 
a  position  in  one  of  the  Portland  schools  if 
she  had  a  little  training  and  applied  herself." 

"Her  letters  to  you  certainly  sounded  as  if 
she  was  workin'  her  best." 

"Did  they?"  vaguely.  "Perhaps  they  did. 
Well,  very  likely  she  has  gone  to  take  a  posi 
tion  then." 

"  Not  in  summer  time,  I  guess,"  remarked 
Betsy. 

"I  don't  seem  to  remember  any  brother  of 
Mrs.  Pogram's,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce  plaintively. 

"Humph!  You've  probably  bought  rib 
bons  of  him  lots  o'  times.  He  sells  'em  up  in 

22 


Mistress  and  Maid 


Portland,  and  I'll  bet  it's  a  strain  on  him 
every  time  he  measures  off  over  thirty-five 
and  a  half  inches  for  a  yard.  Brown's  his 
name.  Loomis  Brown;  and  it  would  seem 
more  fittin'  if  't  was  Lucy.  Such  a  hen-betty 
I  never  saw  in  all  my  days.  I  wonder  if  it's 
possible  he  took  to  shinin'  up  to  Rosalie." 

" Oh,  he's  a  bachelor?" 

"Law,  yes.  He  would  n't  want  to  pay  for 
a  marriage  license,  but  p'raps  he  took  such  a 
shine  to  Rosalie  as  she  grew  older  that  it 
spurred  him  on  to  the  extravagance.  No 
tellin'.  If  that's  the  case,  no  wonder  she  took 
wings." 

"  It's  very  tiresome,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce,  "  the 
way  girls  will  marry  after  one  has  done  one's 
best  for  them." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Bruce.  The  next  time  you  take 
a  fancy  to  a  village  girl,  you  give  her  a  course 
in  cookin'  instead  of  English.  She  can  jaw 
her  husband  all  right  without  any  teachin'; 
but  it  takes  trainin'  to  make  good  bread." 

Mrs.  Bruce  sighed  leniently.  "That  is  your 
point  of  view,  naturally,"  she  said.  "You 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  have  that  divin 
ing  rod  which  recognizes  the  artistic.  Strange 
how  much  better  I  remember  that  girl's  gift 

23 


Clever  Betsy 


and  her   unstudied   gestures   than  I  do  her 
face." 

Betsy  paused  long  enough  in  her  undertak 
ings  to  pull  up  the  bib  of  her  mistress's  apron, 
which  had  slipped,  endangering  the  pretty 
silk  gown.  There  was  a  permanent  line  in 
Betsy's  forehead,  which  might  have  been 
named  "Mrs.  Bruce  the  second";  but  she 
fastened  the  apron  as  carefully  now  as  she 
did  all  things  pertaining  to  that  lady's  welfare, 
and  made  no  reply  to  the  reflection  upon  her 
aesthetic  capabilities.  Betsy  would  not  have 
known  the  meaning  of  the  word  aesthetic,  but 
she  would  have  declared  unhesitatingly  that 
if  it  characterized  Mrs.  Bruce  she  was  willing 
not  to  have  it  describe  herself.  Not  that  she 
had  a  dislike  of  her  mistress.  She  took  her 
as  she  found  her.  Mr.  Bruce  had  been  at 
tached  to  her,  and  Betsy's  duty  was  to  the 
bearer  of  his  name.  She  seldom  contended 
with  her  mistress,  nor  had  any  argument.  She 
said  to  herself  simply  that  it  was  hard  to  teach 
an  old  dog  new  tricks ;  and  while  it  might  seem 
a  trifle  rough  to  mention  an  old  dog  in  con 
nection  with  a  lady  of  Mrs.  Bruce's  attrac 
tive  appearance,  the  sense  of  the  axiom  was 
extremely  applicable,  since  Mrs.  Bruce  could 

24 


Mistress  and  Maid 


become  no  more  set  in  all  essentials  if  she 
lived  to  be  a  hundred. 

Betsy  very  rightly  realizing  that  avoidable 
discord  was  foolishness,  lived  her  philosophy, 
and  contented  herself  with  mental  reservations 
which  would  have  astonished  her  complacent 
mistress  mightily, 

On  the  evening,  twelve  years  ago,  when 
Mr.  Bruce  announced  to  his  housekeeper  his 
impending  marriage,  she  shouldered  this  cross 
resolutely. 

He  had  been  a  man  of  few  words,  and  on 
this  occasion  he  said  simply  to  the  woman  who 
had  seen  his  happiness  with  the  bride  of  his 
youth,  "I  find  myself  very  lonely,  Betsy.  I 
am  going  to  marry  Miss  Flushing." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  she  replied  quietly,  though 
her  heart  leaped  to  her  throat  and  her  thoughts 
flew  to  the  twelve-year-old  boy  who  was  then 
at  home  on  his  vacation.  "Have  you  told  Mr. 
Irving,  sir?" 

She  remembered  the  father's  face  as  he 
replied,  "Yes.  That  boy,  Betsy,  is  a  manly 
little  chap.  Miss  Flushing  is  devoted  to  him 
and  has  gained  his  affection  already;  but  — 
it  was  a  blow  to  him.  I  saw  it.  A  surprise,  a 
great  surprise." 

25 


Clever  Betsy 


Betsy  remembered  to  this  day  how  she  bit 
her  tongue  to  keep  it  from  speaking. 

"He  talked  to  me  though,"  the  father  had 
continued,  "more  like  one  man  to  another 
than  like  a  child;  but  after  being  very  civil 
about  it,  he  announced  that  I  must  n't  expect 
him  to  call  her  mother,  because  he  should  not 
be  able  to." 

Betsy  had  nodded.  "Mr.  Irving  had  a 
mother  out  of  the  ordinary,  Mr.  Bruce,"  she 
replied  very  quietly,  but  with  the  hot  blood 
pressing  in  her  head;  then  she  went  up  deco 
rously  to  her  room,  closed  the  door,  and  in 
dulged  in  one  storm  of  weeping;  after  which 
she  shouldered  the  cross  above  mentioned, 
which  like  all  crosses  heartily  borne,  lightened 
as  the  years  went  on. 

One  thing  was  certain.  Greater  devotion 
was  never  displayed  by  a  stepmother;  and  if 
Irving  Bruce  had  mental  reservations,  too,  he 
did  not  divulge  them  to  the  faithful  woman 
who  was  part  of  his  earliest  remembrance. 


CHAPTER  III 

IRVING   BRUCE 

MRS.  BRUCE  had  retired  from  her  labors,  but 
a  vigorous  cleansing  process  was  still  going  on 
in  the  cottage,  when  a  man's  footsteps  again 
sounded  on  the  garden-path.  Some  one  set 
a  suit-case  down  on  the  porch,  and  then  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway  for  a  moment  of  in 
spection. 

Betsy  started  at  sight  of  the  tall,  gray-clad 
apparition. 

"Mr.  Irving!"  she  ejaculated,  and  the 
transfiguring  expression  which  crossed  her 
face  gave  the  key  at  once  to  her  loyalty.  "Go 
'way  from  here,  we  ain't  a  bit  ready  for  you!" 
she  said  severely. 

He  strode  forward  and  gently  shook  the 
speaker's  angular  shoulders  instead  of  her 
busy  hands. 

"Great  that  I  could  get  here  so  soon,"  he 
returned,  continuing  to  rest  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders,  while  she  looked  up  into  the  eyes 
set  generously  apart  under  level  brows. 

27 


Clever  Betsy 


"He  ain't  any  job  lot,"  she  thought  for  the 
hundredth  time,  "he  's  a  masterpiece."  But 
all  the  time  she  was  trying  to  frown. 

"We  ain't  ready  for  you,"  she  repeated. 
"The  cook  has  n't  come." 

"Bully!"  ejaculated  the  unwelcome  one. 
"It's  the  aim  of  my  existence  to  catch  you 
where  there  is  n't  any  cook.  Are  the  mackerel 
running?" 

"You'll  have  to  ask  Cap'n  Salter  or  some 
other  lazy  coot  about  that.  Mackerel  run 
ning!  Humph!  My  own  running  has  been  all 
I  could  attend  to  the  last  two  days.  Mrs. 
Pogram  's  supposed  to  look  after  the  cottage 
—  air  it  and  so  on;  but  she  always  was  slower 'n 
molasses  and  I  s'pose  she  don't  get  any  younger 
nor  spryer  as  the  years  go  on.  I've  found 
mildew,  yes,  I  have,  mildew,  in  a  number  o' 
places." 

The  young  man  smiled,  dropped  his  hands, 
and  sauntered  to  a  window  overlooking  the 
tumbling  blue. 

"She  has  what's-her-name  there,  that  girl 
she  adopted,"  he  responded  carelessly.  "Why 
does  n't  she  shift  such  duties  upon  her?" 

"Oh,  you  remember  Rosalie,  do  you?" 
asked  Betsy  dryly,  as  she  resumed  her  work. 

28 


Irving  Bruce 


"To  be  sure.  That  was  her  name.  Pretty 
name.  Pretty  girl.  A  real  village  beauty," 

"Yes,"  said  Betsy.  "You  very  likely  re 
member  Mrs.  Bruce  took  a  lot  of  interest  in 
her.  Had  her  here  to  speak  poetry  one  day." 

"Oh,  I  remember  her  very  well,"  returned 
the  young  man.  "I  don't  recall  the  poetry 
though.  So  that  was  her  forte.  Apt  to  inter 
fere  with  opening  up  and  airing  out  other 
people's  cottages,  I  suppose." 

''Yes,  if  it's  encouraged.  Hers  was  encour- 
aged." 

Betsy's  lips  snapped  together  and  her  tone 
caused  her  companion  to  glance  around  at  her 
over  his  shoulder. 

"Mildew  sort  of  got  on  your  nerves,  Betsy?  " 
he  asked,  amused.  "Don't  worry.  There's  a 
free-for-all  chemistry  here  that  will  fix  it  up 
in  no  time.  Drop  that  duster  and  come  and 
look  at  the  ocean.  It  will  steady  you." 

"Steady  me!"  Betsy  gave  a  derisive  grunt. 
"Tell  that  to  the  marines.  I've  had  expe 
rience  of  its  steadiness  the  last  month,  have 
n't  I?" 

Irving  laughed  at  certain  memories  of  his 
companion's  walnut  profile,  with  lips  pursed 
in  the  throes  of  endurance. 

29 


Clever  Betsy 


"You  aren't  a  star  sailor,  are  you?"  he 
returned. 

"I  learned  the  meanin'  o'  one  phrase  o' 
Scripture;  learned  it  for  life.  'Unstable  as 
water.'  It  fits  some  folks  just  splendid  and 
you  could  n't  say  anything  worse  about  'em. 
My!  will  I  ever  forget  try  in'  to  wait  on  Mrs. 
Bruce  and  fix  my  hair  in  that  stateroom! 
Never  got  my  arms  up  that  there  did  n't  come 
a  lurch  and  knock  my  elbow  against  the  wood 
work  fit  to  break  the  skin." 

"You  ought  to  be  better  upholstered, 
Betsy,"  said  Irving. 

"And  varnish!"  she  continued,  with  remi 
niscent  loathing.  "Shall  I  ever  be  able  to  use 
varnish  again!" 

"Joy!"  exclaimed  Irving.  "Then  I'm  not 
in  any  danger  of  being  shellacked!  I  never 
felt  certain  in  childhood's  happy  hour  that 
keeping  me  surgically  clean  would  wholly  sat 
isfy  you." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Betsy  warmly,  "the  ocean 
won't  get  me  to  look  at  it  this  summer.  All 
diamonds,  and  blue  sparkles,  and  white 
feathers,  just  as  if  butter  would  n't  melt  in 
its  mouth;  then  when  it  gets  you  in  its  clutches, 
bangs  you  around  from  pillar  to  post  and 

30 


Irving  Bruce 


nearly  blows  the  hair  off  your  head.  I  know 
its  tricks  now.  It'll  never  deceive  me  again." 

Irving  smiled  out  at  the  maligned  billows. 
"Looks  pretty  good  to  me,"  he  returned. 
"Wonder  what  I  shall  do  about  a  boat.  Has 
Mrs.  Bruce  said  any  more  about  the  Yellow 
stone?" 

"Yes,  spoke  of  it  this  mornin'  to  Cap'n 
Salter." 

"Oh,  has  she  been  out  with  Hiram  already?" 

"No,  he  was  lally-gaggin'  around  here  for  a 
while." 

"How  is  old  Hiram?"  The  question  was 
affectionate. 

Betsy  pushed  an  upturned  rug  under  a 
table-leg. 

"Oh,  about  as  usual,  I  guess.  Gets  more  like 
himself  every  year,  same  as  we  all  do." 

"Well,  he  could  n't  do  better.  He's  a  good 
sort."  Irving  smiled  at  some  memory.  "I 
must  have  made  that  man's  life  a  burden. 
What  a  lot  of  patience  he  had!  But  when  the 
end  was  reached,  I  can  feel  that  hand  of  his 
come  down  on  me,  big  as  a  ham,  and  toss  me 
away  as  if  I'd  been  a  cunner  he  was  throwing 
back.  Mrs.  Salter,  too.  Talk  about  salt  of  the 
earth!  I  suppose  that  must  have  been  a  stock 


Clever  Betsy 


Fairport  pun  during  her  life.  Many  a  time 
she  begged  me  off.  The  gentle  Annie!  I 
should  think  so.  Let's  see.  How  long  has  she 
been  gone?" 

"Five  years." 

"And  the  captain  has  never  taken  notice 
since,  has  he?" 

"Don't  ask  me"  was  the  curt  response;  and 
a  table  was  whisked  completely  around  with  a 
celerity  which  must  have  given  it  vertigo. 

"Betsy!  Betsy!"  It  was  a  cautious  call 
which  came  quietly  from  the  invisible. 

Betsy  straightened  herself  and  moved  to 
ward  it,  and  the  silent  moment  was  followed 
by  the  swift  entrance  of  Mrs.  Bruce. 

"My  dear  boy!"  she  exclaimed,  aggrieved. 
"I  thought  I  heard  a  man's  voice.  How  long 
have  you  been  here  ?  Betsy,  why  did  n't  you 
tell  me!  " 

The  young  man's  eyes  were  kind  as  he  turned 
and  came  to  meet  the  speaker,  and  his  manner 
seemed  very  quiet  in  contrast  to  her  alert,  fussy 
personality  and  the  froufrou  of  her  taffetas. 

"Good-morning,  Madama,"  he  said,  return 
ing  her  nervous  embrace  lightly.  "IVe  asked 
Betsy  so  many  questions  since  I  broke  in  here, 
that  she  could  n't  in  civility  leave  me." 

32 


Irving  Bruce 


Betsy  returned  to  her  labors,  deaf  to  her 
mistress's  remarks.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Bruce 
had  a  chronic  objection  to  her  having  a  tete- 
a-tete,  however  short,  with  Irving,  It  was  as 
if  the  widow  were  jealous  of  the  twelve  years' 
advantage  which  her  maid  had  over  her;  and 
notwithstanding  Betsy's  humble  position,  her 
mistress  constantly  imagined  that  they  re 
ferred,  when  together,  to  events  which  she  had 
not  shared,  and  spoke  on  subjects  which 
would  be  dropped  upon  her  appearance. 

The  newcomer  slipped  her  hand  through 
the  young  man's  arm,  and  moved  with  him 
as  he  returned  to  the  window. 

"Why  did  n't  you  telegraph?  How  did  you 
happen  to  come  so  soon?" 

"Oh,  I  just  saw  that  the  bank  was  run  by 
a  lot  of  egoists  who  supposed  that  they  could 
manage  it  without  me,  just  as  they  have  for 
thirty  years,  so  I  thought  I  would  make  the 
most  of  this  last  summer  of  their  self-satis 
faction,  and  take  all  that  was  coming  to  me, 
before  I  get  into  the  harness." 

"Very  wise;  and  I  hope  when  you  do  get 
into  harness  you'll  never  make  such  a  slave 
of  yourself  as  your  dear  father  did." 

"You  never  can  tell.  I  rather  dread  my 
33 


Clever  Betsy 


own  proclivities.  If  I  should  ever  work  as  hard 
as  I've  played,  the  business  world  is  going 
to  be  jarred  when  I  leap  into  it." 

Mrs.  Bruce  hung  fondly  on  his  arm,  rejoic 
ing  in  the  hard  muscle  she  felt  through  his 
light  sleeve. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I'm  glad  you  could 
come.  There  is  such  a  wonderful  feeling  of 
freedom  in  this  restful  spot.  Sometimes," 
pensively,  "I  think  the  greatest  blessing  we 
have  in  life  is  personal  freedom.  I  suffocate 
without  it,  and  it  is  astonishing  how  difficult 
it  is  to  get,  in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life." 
Then,  with  sudden  attention,  "What  makes 
you  wear  that  tie  with  that  suit?  I  don't  like 
it  at  all,  anyway.  That  is  n't  one  that  I  gave 
you." 

The  young  man's  hand  mechanically  sought 
his  throat.  "No,  Madama,"  he  admitted, 
still  looking  absently  from  the  window. 

"I  should  think,  Irving,  as  many  neckties 
as  I  pick  out  for  you,  you  might  wear  one  of 
them  when  you're  going  to  be  with  me." 

"But  I  can't  bear  to  wear  your  neckties," 
he  returned  gently,  "they're  so  decorative  in 
my  room.  To  tie  them  all  up  and  bury  them 
under  a  collar  and  vest  would  be  a  shame.  I 

34 


Irving  Bruce 


hang  them  on  my  tie-rack,  where  they  can  be 
admired  morning,  noon,  and  night.  You  know 
I  keep  trying  to  curb  your  extravagance  in 
that  line.  You'll  impoverish  yourself  so  that 
you  can't  wear  silk  stockings  if  you  go  on  like 
this.  Every  few  days  a  new  tie  to  go  on  the 
rack." 

"Nonsense,"  returned  Mrs.  Bruce  curtly. 
"If  I  did  n't  have  such  good  taste,  of  course  I 
should  n't  venture  to  buy  ties  for  a  man;  but 
even  as  a  girl  I  was  considered  to  have  the 
most  perfect  taste.  I  was  famous  for  it,  and  I  'm 
sure,  Irving,  I've  tried  to  instill  it  into  you." 

"You  have,  Madama,"  he  returned  sooth 
ingly,  "and  I  think  I'm  a  credit  to  you.  Now 
come,  I'm  prepared  to  maintain  that  I've 
caught  the  infection,  and  that  my  taste  is 
perfect,  too."  He  stifled  a  yawn.  "To  prove 
it,  I'll  throw  down  the  bone  of  contention, 
collar  and  all,  and  get  into  a  sweater.  I'm 
going  to  hunt  up  Hiram  before  lunch  and  swap 
lies  for  a  spell." 

So  speaking  the  young  man  stepped  out  on 
the  porch,  picked  up  his  suit-case,  and  walked 
through  the  spreading  cottage  until  he  came 
to  his  room,  where  Betsy  was  whisking  things 
into  readiness  for  his  occupancy. 

35 


Clever  Betsy 


"There!  Do  you  smell?"  she  asked,  sniffing 
disapprovingly;  "just  like  a  cellar ?" 

"No/5  he  returned  plaintively,  "I  don't 
think  I  do:9 

"I  didn't  say  do  you;  I  say,  don't  it" 
snapped  Betsy,  in  no  mood  for  badinage.  "If 
you  had  n't  come  so  soon,  I  'd  have  had  it 
aired  out.  I'd  like  to  shake  Mrs.  Pogram  till 
her  teeth  chatter." 

Irving  set  down  his  suit-case. 

"As  I  remember,  Mrs.  Pogram's  teeth  are 
n't  calculated  to  chatter.  They  don't  —  what 
is  the  technical  term  now?" 

Betsy  grunted.  "I  do  feel  ashamed  to  have 
you  come  into  such  a  comfortless  place,  Mr. 
Irving." 

"I'd  rather  be  here,  Betsy,  even  if  I  have 
to  wear  a  clothes-pin  on  my  nose  while  un 
making  my  toilet.  I  can  sleep  on  the  porch, 
you  know.  You  think  —  eh,  Betsy,  you  think 
there's  no  use  trying  to  side-step  the  Yellow 
stone?" 

"We're  as  good  as  there,"  returned  Betsy 
sententiously.  "Mrs.  Bruce  says  that  when 
once  you  get  into  that  bank,  she  might  as 
well  count  on  the  wind  that  blows  as  you 
taking  a  vacation  at  any  stated  time;  and 

36 ' 


Irving  Bruce 


you  know  it's  got  to  be  a  stated  time  for  the 
Yellowstone." 

Irving  sighed. 

"I  hope  we  know  our  place,  Betsy,"  he  re 
turned. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MRS.    POGRAM    CONFIDES 

HALF  an  hour  afterward  Mrs.  Pogram,  un 
conscious  of  Miss  Foster's  yearning  to  admin 
ister  to  her  portly  person  a  vigorous  movement 
cure,  walked  leisurely  up  the  village  street. 
From  one  hand  depended  a  long  slender  pack 
age  which  she  held  away  from  her  black  shawl 
by  a  string  loop  around  her  forefinger. 

A  merry  whistling  attracted  her,  and  she 
perceived  coming  along  the  walk,  at  a  swing 
ing  gait,  a  bareheaded  young  man  in  a 
sweater.  In  a  few  days  the  streets  of  the  vil 
lage  would  be  largely  populated  by  girls  and 
men,  all  with  an  aversion  to  hats  and  sleeves. 
Mrs.  Pogram  was  familiar  with  the  type,  and 
noted  that  this  care-free  person  was  an  advance 
guard  proving  that  the  summer  was  here. 

She  eyed  him,  however,  with  lack-lustre  eyes 
until  he  stopped  suddenly  before  her. 

"You  don't  know  me,"  he  said,  taking  his 
hands  out  of  his  pockets. 

The  corners  of  Mrs.  Pogram's  lips  drew 
down  and  her  chin  drew  in. 

38 


Mrs.  Pogram  Confides 


"Why,  Irvin'  Bruce,  it's  you!"  she  declared. 
"We  haven't  seen  you  in  these  parts  for  so  long 
I  did  n't  know  but  you'd  given  up  Fairport." 

"Couldn't  do  that,  Mrs.  Pogram.  You 
know  how  a  man  always  returns  to  the  scene 
of  his  crimes." 

Mrs.  Pogram  again  drew  down  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  and  gave  her  gingerly-held  pack 
age  a  shake. 

"This  pesky  fish  never  will  be  done  drip- 
pin',"  she  remarked. 

"Been  fishing?"  asked  her  companion. 

"Yes.  I  go  fishin'  on  the  wharf.  It's 
cheaper  than  to  the  market  and  the  walk 
does  me  good." 

"You  look  well." 

"I  ain't  well.  It's  kind  o'  hard  for  me  to 
get  around,  and  I  miss  Rosalie.  She's  gone 
off."  Mrs.  Pogram's  voice  took  a  whining  note, 
and  she  indulged  in  a  sniff  of  self-pity.  "I 
donno  as  you  ever  saw  Rosalie?" 

"Oh  yes,  I've  seen  her." 

"The  way  I  come  to  take  her,  I  was  gettin' 
along  in  years  and  she  was  left  alone  in  the 
world.  She  wanted  a  home  and  I  wanted 
young  hands  and  feet,  so  we'd  'a'  got  along  real 
comfortable  if  it  had  n't  been  for  Loomis;  and 

39 


Clever  Betsy 


I've  been  more  like  a  mother  than  a  sister  to 
Loomis,  bein3  so  much  older,  and  I  do  think 
he  might  have  let  me  have  a  little  comfort 
without  naggin'  me  all  the  time." 

"Has  he  left  Portland  and  come  here  to  live 
with  you?" 

"Oh  no,  he's  still  in  Chatham's  store,  but 
he  can  run  down  over  Sunday  any  time,  you 
know,  and  ever  since  Rosalie  came  he's  done 
so  a  great  deal." 

"What  could  you  expect?"  returned  Irving. 
"I  remember  her." 

"Hey?  Oh,  yes,  Loomis  was  awful  pleased 
with  her  at  first,  but  she  did  n't  seem  to  take 
much  of  a  fancy  to  him.  Kinder  laughed  at 
him.  Loomis  is  sort  o'  fussy.  Anyway,  she 
made  him  mad  one  day,  and  from  that  on  he 
did  n't  give  me  any  peace." 

Mrs.  Pogram  sniffed  again  and  gave  her 
lachrymose  package  another  shake  so  that  its 
tears  bedewed  the  walk  as  if  she  were  weeping 
vicariously. 

"He  made  you  send  the  girl  away?"  asked 
Irving  quickly,  a  line  coming  in  his  forehead 
at  the  remembrance  of  the  mincing  young 
clerk  who  had  been  the  natural  victim  of 
many  a  prank  of  his  own  boyhood. 

40 


Mrs.  Pogram  Confides 


"Not  made  me,  exactly,"  returned  Mrs. 
Pogram,  "but  Rosalie  got  so  she  wouldn't 
stand  it  any  longer.  You  see,"  her  complain 
ing  tone  altering  to  one  of  some  complacence, 
"though  I  ain't  any  millionairess,  my  estate 
ain't  exactly  to  be  sneezed  at.  The  old  Pogram 
mahogany  and  the  silver  that  was  my  mother's 
are  worth  considerable;  and  Loomis  was  on 
pins  for  fear  I'd  give  some  of  'em  to  Rosalie. 
I  give  her  a  spoon  once  —  it  was  real  thin, 
Irving  not  worth  much  of  anything  in  money, 
but  it  was  a  time  when  Rosalie 'd  taken  care 
of  me  through  a  fever  and  I  felt  to  give  her 
somethin';  and  law,  from  the  way  Loomis 
took  on  you  'd  'a'  thought  I  'd  made  him  a  poor 
man  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Honestly  I  was 
ashamed  of  him;  and  I  kep'  his  actions  away 
from  Rosalie  as  much  as  I  could;  but  she's 
smart,  and  she  saw  she'd  gained  Loomis's 
enmity  by  laughin'  at  him,  and  saw  that  he 
was  gettin'  kinder  jealous  of  her  about  the 
things;  and  if  she  would  only  have  been  quiet, 
and  spoken  him  fair,  and  we  both  kept  our 
own  counsel,  I  could  have  slipped  many  a 
little  thing  to  her  and  he'd  never  'a'  known  the 
difference.  Things  were  n't  ever  the  same 
after  your  mother  gave  her  that  winter  at 


Clever  Betsy 


Lambeth.  She  never  laughed  at  Loomis  till 
after  that,  and  then  came  my  sickness  and  I 
gave  her  the  spoon,  and  from  that  time  there 
wa'n't  ever  any  peace." 

The  line  in  Irving's  forehead  came  again. 
"Then  you  don't  think  Mrs.  Bruce's  gift  to 
Rosalie  was  an  advantage." 

"Well,  I  was  willin'  to  spare  her  for  her 
own  good,  for  I  could  see  what  her  longings 
were,  and  felt  I  had  n't  ought  to  stand  in  her 
way.  Loomis  favored  it  because  I  think  't  was 
his  idea  then  that  he  and  Rosalie  would  both 
come  into  the  Brown-Pogram  estate  one  o' 
these  days." 

Irving  lifted  a  hand  to  conceal  some  ebul 
lition  which  escaped  him  at  the  thought  of  the 
ramshackle  ancestral  halls  of  the  Pograms. 

"As  I  say,"  continued  Mrs.  Pogram,  "if 
Rosalie  could  have  worked  with  me  we'd  ha' 
kep'  Loomis  smoothed  down;  but  after  the 
spoon  trouble  that  young  one  acted  like  all 
possessed.  Every  time  Loomis  came  she'd 
throw  out  remarks  to  scare  him.  'Oh,  Auntie 
Pogram,'  she'd  say,  'just  look  how  exactly 
the  right  height  this  work-table  is  for  me  to 
set  by.  It's  the  real  stuff  this  wood  is;'  and 
then  she'd  gaze  at  it  kinder  thoughtful.  'If 

42 


Mrs.  Pogram  Confides 


this  was  polished  up,  that  grain  would  come 
out  beautiful.'  Then  there  is  a  silver  slop- 
bowl  and  creamer  that  was  my  mother's. 
'Oh,  Auntie  Pogram,'  she'd  say,  and  just 
clasp  her  hands  and  gaze  at  'em  like  they  was 
magnets  and  she  a  needle.  'How  easy  it  is, 
after  all,  to  tell  the  real  antiquities  from  the 
made-up  ones,'  she'd  say.  'How  I  do  love 
that  colonial  pattern!'  And  all  the  time 
Loomis  would  fidget  and  run  his  fingers  through 
his  hair  and  get  red  in  the  face.  After 
he'd  go  I'd  talk  to  her,  but  she  would  n't  do 
a  thing  but  laugh  till  the  tears  come  in  her 
eyes."  Mrs.  Pogram  nodded  significantly. 
"But  the  day  came  when  there  was  more  tears 
and  not  so  much  laugh.  Loomis  got  so  he 
come  down  every  Saturday  night.  He  made 
a  list  of  all  the  silver  and  he'd  count  'em  out, 
forks  and  spoons,  every  time  he  came.  One 
Sunday  night  he  said  something  real  down 
right  mean  to  Rosalie  about  beggars  not  bein' 
choosers.  I  spoke  up  for  the  girl  then  and 
there.  I  said  Rosalie  had  earned  everything 
she'd  had  from  me  and  earned  it  fully.  I  can 
see  her  now  standin'  there,  and  the  way  her 
nostrils  opened  when  she  breathed.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  her  as  good-lookin'  as  she 

43 


Clever  Betsy 


was  that  minute.  Her  light  hair  was  just 
fluffin5  out  like  a  cloud,  and  her  blue  eyes 
turned  nearly  black,  and  her  lips  was  bit  in 
between  her  teeth  till  she  scared  me  the  way 
she  looked  at  Loomis.  Then  she  went  out  o' 
the  room  without  a  word.  The  next  mornin' 
she  did  n't  get  up  at  half-past  four  to  get 
Loomis's  breakfast,  the  way  she  had  to  when 
he  stayed  Sunday  nights.  I  had  n't  thought 
she  would,  and  I  got  up  in  my  double-gown 
and  found  him  drinkin'  some  cold  milk,  and 
growlin'.  Loomis  likes  his  coffee.  I  told  him 
't  was  his  own  fault,  and  he  told  me  to  go  to 
bed  and  stay  there,  —  't  was  all  I  was  fit  for." 
Mrs.  Pogram  sniffed  again  and  shook  the  fish 
mechanically. 

"I  did  n't  hear  any  sound  in  Rosalie's  room 
when  Loomis  slammed  the  front  door;  so  after 
a  spell  I  went  in  to  find  her  and  try  to  make 
peace,  but — "  the  speaker  shook  her  head  — 
"there  waVt  any  Rosalie.  Her  bed  was  made 
up  neat  and  there  was  a  note  on  her  table. 
'I  love  you,  dear  Auntie  Pogram,  but  I  can't 
stand  it  any  longer.  Don't  worry  about  me. 
If  I'm  in  any  trouble  I  promise  to  write  to 
you.'  " 

Here,  the  fish  not  seeming  equal  to  the  oc- 
44 


Mrs.  Pogram  Confides 


casion,  Mrs.  Pogram  dabbed  some  tears  from 
her  own  eyes. 

"How  long  ago  was  this?"  asked  Irving. 

"Only  a  few  weeks,  and  I  have  n't  heard 
another  word," 

"Your  brother  is  satisfied,  I  suppose?" 

"Well,  he  ain't  real  comfortable,  'cause  he 
knows  I  don't  mean  to  live  and  work  all 
alone.  I  ain't  fit  to;  and  he's  afraid  now 
I'll  pay  wages  that'll  be  a  tax  on  the  es 
tate." 

Irving  muttered  something  under  his  breath. 

"Hey?"  inquired  his  companion  plain 
tively, 

"I'm  sorry  for  all  this,  Mrs.  Pogram.  You 
must  tell  Betsy  about  it.  Her  head  is  full  of 
sensible  ideas.  Perhaps  she  can  help  you." 

"I'd  like  to  see  her,"  returned  the  other 
mournfully.  "How  are  you  all?" 

"All  well." 

"You've  been  to  Europe.  Now  I  s'pose 
you'Jl  settle  down  a  spell." 

"Alas,  Mrs.  Bruce  decrees  otherwise.  We're 
off  for  the  Yellowstone  as  soon  as  we  can  un 
pack  and  pack  again." 

"I  hear  it's  real  sightly  out  there,"  re 
turned  Mrs.  Pogram,  without  enthusiasm. 

45 


Clever  Betsy 


"I'll  have  to  tell  Betsy  to  get  some  one  else 
to  look  after  the  cottage,  though;  I  ain't  fit 
to  hist  mattresses."  Another  sniff.  "Good- 
mornin',  Irvin',  I'm  real  glap  I  met  you.  Re 
member  me  to  the  folks." 


CHAPTER  V 

ROSALIE   VINCENT 

A  THRONG  of  pilgrims  to  the  Yellowstone  was 
emptying  out  of  the  cars  upon  the  platform 
at  Gardiner.  The  spectacular  six-horse  coaches 
were  in  waiting,  and  the  customary  competi 
tion  and  struggle  for  the  outside  seats  began. 
Mrs.  Bruce  was  wild-eyed  in  her  determina 
tion  to  sit  near  the  driver,  and  Irving  turned 
to  Betsy,  who  spoke  promptly:  — 

"Never  mind  me,  Mr.  Irving.  Just  go  up 
top  with  Mrs.  Bruce.  I'll  go  inside." 

Which  plan  was  accordingly  carried  out; 
and  Mrs.  Bruce  was  ensconced  to  her  satis 
faction  where  she  could  ask  questions  alter 
nately  of  the  driver  and  her  son. 

The  jingling,  gay  teams  started,  and  wound 
up  the  ascending  road  under  a  vast  sky  above 
the  encircling  hills  and  mountains.  As  they 
passed  the  Eagle's  Nest  Mrs.  Bruce  had  her 
first  qualm  as  to  Betsy.  Upon  being  told  that 
the  high-placed  bundle  of  sticks  perched  on 
a  cliff  was  indeed  the  domicile  of  the  king  of 
birds,  she  exclaimed:  — 

47 


Clever  Betsy 


"Oh,  Irving,  couldn't  you  stoop  over  and 
call  down  to  Betsy  to  put  her  head  out?  That 
is  such  a  purely  American  sight,  and  Betsy  is 
so  American!" 

But  Irving,  objecting  to  this  contortion, 
diverted  his  companion's  attention. 

As  for  Betsy,  she  preferred  the  seclusion 
from  the  sight  of  the  six  horses  so  dexterously 
tooled  along  the  road,  and  felt  that  she  saw 
all  the  scenery  she  cared  for  despite  the  roof 
of  the  stage.  Miss  Foster  must  have  had  an 
excellent  conscience ;  she  always  accepted  with 
such  contentment  her  own  society. 

There  was  a  chatter  of  voices  in  her  ears 
from  the  other  occupants  of  the  stage,  but  her 
eyes  rested  absently  on  hillside  and  waterfall 
while  she  thought  of  Fairport  and  the  de 
serted  cottage  whose  condition  was  still  far 
from  satisfying  her.  Her  thoughts  roved,  too, 
as  they  often  did,  to  Rosalie  Vincent.  What 
was  the  girl  doing,  out  in  the  world  unpro 
tected? 

It  seemed  but  a  short  time  to  Betsy  before 
the  coach  swung  around  the  circle  in  front  of 
the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  Hotel,  and  the 
passengers  poured  from  the  vehicle,  watched 
by  other  crowds  on  the  hotel  piazza,  who  half 


Rosalie  Vincent 


resented  the  arrival  of  newcomers,  for  at  this 
season  food  and  beds  were  at  a  premium. 

Irving  had  looked  out  for  the  comfort  of 
his  party,  and  Mrs.  Bruce's  room  satisfied  her. 
They  spent  the  day  in  the  customary  visits 
to  beautiful  terraces  of  heavenly  tints  built 
by  boiling-hot  scanty  waterfalls,  and  at  night 
laid  them  down  to  slumber  well  contented. 

In  a  remote  room  of  the  hotel  a  young  girl, 
after  her  evening's  experience  of  standing 
upon  her  feet  long  hours,  waiting  upon  hun 
gry  hordes  of  sightseers,  was  hastening  to  get 
ready  for  her  night's  rest,  when  the  handle 
of  her  door  was  turned,  and  then  as  if  some 
one  outside  was  impatient  of  its  resistance, 
it  was  shaken  with  energy. 

The  half-disrobed  occupant  of  the  room  ran 
to  hold  the  door. 

"Who  's  there?"  she  demanded. 

A  sharp  girlish  voice  replied  imperatively, 
"It's  me!  Open  the  door  quick!" 

"You've  made  a  mistake  in  the  room," 
returned  the  girl  inside.  "This  is  mine." 

"Is  it,  indeed!"  shrilly.  "Well,  I  guess  if 
you  don't  open  this  door  pretty  quick,  I'll 
have  you  sent  flying!" 

At  which  threat  in  the  sharp  voice,  the  girl 
49 


Clever  Betsy 


inside  opened  the  door, and  viewed  in  aston 
ishment  the  stormy-eyed  young  person  who 
entered,  beginning  to  pull  out  hairpins  from 
her  lofty  pompadour  as  she  came.  "What  did 
you  think  you  were?  A  lay-over?"  she  de 
manded  scornfully. 

The  other  girl,  her  fair  hair  falling  in  ripples 
about  her  bare  neck  and  arms,  closed  the  door 
and  regarded  the  newcomer  with  wide  eyes. 

".Is  it  your  room,  too?"  she  asked. 
""Yes,  it  is,"  snapped  the  other,  "and  I  hope 
it  won't  be  any  more  disagreeable  for  you 
than  it  is  for  me." 

"Oh  —  oh  —  of  course  not,"  returned  the 
fair  one.  "  I  only  thought  it  was  so  small  —  and 
the  bed  is  so  narrow —  and  I  did  n't  know — " 

"Well,"  returned  the  other,  somewhat  molli 
fied,  and  with  a  yawn,  "I  saw  down  in  the 
dining-room  to-night  that  you  were  a  green 
horn.  We  're  mighty  lucky  not  to  be  in  a 
bigger  room  with  half-a-dozen  girls.  My  name's 
Miss  Hickey.  What's  yours?" 

"Rosalie  Vincent,"  responded  the  fair  one, 
still  standing  rooted  to  her  place  while  Miss 
Hickey  removed  a  mammoth  rat  from  her 
hair,  and  eclipsed  with  it  one  side  of  the  wash- 
stand,  which  was  dresser  as  well. 

50 


Rosalie  Vincent 


"Better  get  to  bed,  Miss  Vincent.  You'll 
have  plenty  of  chances  to  stare  at  me,  and  you 
look  as  tired  as  I  feel.  I  stayed  down  to  help 
the  pearl-divers  awhile  to-night." 

"Pearl-divers?"  echoed  Rosalie. 

"Yes.  Dish-washers,  Greenie.  I 'ma  heaver 
like  yourself;  but  we  all  have  to  turn  in  and 
help  each  other,  once  in  a  while.  This  is  my 
third  season.  My  first  I  waited  on  the  sage- 
brushers." 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  Rosalie,  overawed 
by  so  much  sophistication. 

"Campers;  but  I  like  the  hotels  best.  The 
dudes  are  more  my  style." 

"What  did  you  call  me  a  few  minutes  ago? 
A  lay-over?"  asked  Rosalie. 

"Yes,  those  are  the  swells  that  stay  more 
than  one  night.  They're  the  princes  of  the 
Yellowstone  and  they  have  to  pay  like  princes, 
too.  All  their  dishes  washed  separately,  sepa 
rate  food,  separate  everything.  I  thought  you 
must  think  you  were  one  to  have  a  room  all 
to  yourself." 

Miss  Hickey  here  completed  her  hasty 
night-toilet  and  jumped  into  bed.  "Come 
along,  child.  I'll  make  myself  small  against 
the  wall." 


Clever  Betsy 


"Indeed,  I'm  not  a  lay-over,"  said  Rosalie, 
now  hastening  to  follow  the  other's  example. 
"  I  'm  to  be  sent  on  with  the  crowd  to-morrow." 

"So  am  I,"  returned  the  other,  with  nasal 
sleepiness;  <cand  I'm  darned  sorry,  too.  I  like 
the  swatties  here  better  than  at  any  post." 

"Swatties?"  echoed  Rosalie  helplessly. 

"Soldiers,  Greenie,"  drawled  Miss  Hickey. 
"You'll  see  a  lot  more  of  'em  before  you  see 
less.  Now  I  ain't  goin'  to  say  another  word 
to-night." 

And  Miss  Hickey  kept  her  word.  Her  sleep 
was  as  energetic  as  her  waking;  and  Rosalie 
listened  to  her  heavy  breathing  and  stared 
wide-eyed  into  the  darkness. 

She  had  recognized  the  Bruce  party  at  the 
evening  meal.  She  had  not  been  obliged  to 
wait  on  them,  and  knew  herself  unobserved. 
But  the  discovery  had  excited  her  very  much. 
Mrs.  Bruce  had  been  right  when  she  said  that 
Rosalie's  was  the  artistic  temperament.  The 
independence,  caution,  and  reserve  of  the  New 
Englander  were  not  her  characteristics.  She 
longed  for  companionship  and  some  one  with 
whom  to  sympathize  in  the  present  predica 
ment;  for  predicament  she  felt  it  to  be.  How 
extraordinary  that  this  should  be  the  summer 

52 


Rosalie  Vincent 


chosen  by  the  Bruces  for  their  visit  to  the  Na 
tional  Park. 

She  thought  of  the  irreverent  punctuation 
which  made  a  well-known  quotation  read: 
"There  is  a  divinity  which  shapes  our  ends 
rough,  hew  them  as  we  may." 

She  had  believed  Mrs.  Bruce  to  be  in  Eu 
rope,  and  though  that  lady's  natural  preoccu 
pation  there  explained  the  ignoring  of  her 
protegee's  painstaking  letters,  it  did  not 
excuse  it,  or  leave  Rosalie  the  slightest  hope 
that  her  benefactress  continued  to  feel  an 
interest  in  her.  The  fact  was  a  hurt  to  the 
grateful  girl,  and  the  ever-present  conscious 
ness  of  it  gave  her  a  reason  for  desiring  to 
leave  Fairport,  where  the  Bruces  would  return. 
This  sensitiveness  would  not  have  induced  her 
to  leave  Mrs.  Pogram,  had  the  latter's  brother 
not  made  her  stay  unendurable,  but  it  was  a 
secret  reason  for  being  glad  to  escape. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Bruce  and  her  son  would  not 
remember  her  at  all;  but  she  could  not  expect 
to  escape  Betsy  Foster's  recognition.  So  she 
lay  there  awake;  at  one  moment  longing  for 
Mrs.  Pogram's  kindly,  invertebrate  protec 
tion,  and  wishing  that  Mrs.  Bruce  had  never 
opened  to  her  another  world;  and  again  feel- 

53 


Clever  Betsy 


ing  the  fire  of  ambition  to  repay  that  lady 
every  cent  she  had  ever  spent  upon  her. 
Rosalie's  color  pressed  high  as  she  imagined 
Mrs.  Bruce's  amazed  scorn  that  the  talents  in 
which  she  had  at  least  for  a  time  believed,  had 
carried  their  possessor  no  higher  as  yet  than 
to  be  a  waitress  —  a  heaver,  according  to  Miss 
Hickey  —  in  the  Yellowstone. 

The  girl  must  at  last  have  dozed;  for  she 
shortly  experienced  a  vigorous  shaking  from 
her  companion. 

"Here,  here,  hustle ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Hickey, 
not  unkindly.  Rosalie  opened  her  eyes  with  such 
bewilderment  that  her  companion  laughed. 

"Come  on,  blue  eyes.  You  look  like  a  baby. 
Get  into  your  duds.  We're  off  for  Norris 
Basin,  worse  luck." 

The  sight  of  Miss  Hickey's  readjusted  pom 
padour  gave  Rosalie  a  realizing  sense  of  the 
situation. 

"Oh,  Miss  Hickey,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
hurried  to  the  washstand,  "are  many  people 
lay-overs?" 

"Oh,  you've  got  them  on  the  brain,  have 
you?"  asked  the  other,  proceeding  with  her 
own  toilet.  "Not  many,  'cause  it  costs  too 
much." 

54 


Rosalie  Vincent 


"  I  saw  some  people  here  last  night  who  have 
lots  of  money  —  oh,  lots  and  lots!  Should  n't 
you  think  they'd  stay?" 

"H'm.  I  only  hope  they  will,"  rejoined  Miss 
Hickey,  "as  long  as  we're  going.  The  crowds 
are  fierce." 

"I  do  hope  they  will!"  Rosalie's  echo  was 
fervent.  She  almost  summoned  courage  to 
tell  her  aggressive  companion  the  situation; 
but  one  glance  at  the  young  woman's  coiffure, 
which  was  now  receiving  the  addition  of  a 
bunch  of  curls,  arrested  her. 

Miss  Hickey  regarded  her  companion  sharply. 

"You  ain't  a  heaver  all  the  year,"  she  re 
marked  tentatively,  "or  else  you  would  n't  be 
afraid  o'  those  rich  folks.  There's  the  tips,  you 
know." 

Rosalie  was  silent. 

"Perhaps  you  was  their  waitress  and  ran  off 
to  see  the  world  without  giving  notice." 

"No,  I  was  n't  that;  but  I  —  I  know  them, 
and—" 

The  speech  drifted  into  silence. 

"You  know  rich  folks,  do  you  ?  Lucky  you." 

"Not  exactly.  They  —  she — "  stammered 
Rosalie,  "they  helped  —  educate  me." 

"Oh,  you're  educated,  are  you?"  retorted 
55 


Clever  Betsy 


Miss  Hickey,  giving  her  coiffure  a  satisfied  lift. 
"Well,  so  am  I.   I'm  a  typewriter  in  Chicago, 


winters.'3 


"Does  —  does  it  pay  well?"  asked  Rosalie, 
with  such  serious  wistfulness  that  Miss  Hickey 
forgave  her  her  rich  acquaintances. 

She  grimaced.  "Not  so  you'd  notice  it.  I 
ain't  goin'  back  this  fall.  You  know  the  Yellow 
stone  Company '11  land  you  just  as  many  miles 
from  the  Park  as  they  brought  you,  and  in  any 
direction  you  say.  Me  for  Los  Angeles.  I  ain't 
afraid  I  can't  make  my  living,  and  I  'm  sick  o' 
bein'  snowed  on,  winters,  without  any  furs." 

Rosalie  looked  enviously  at  the  other's  snap 
ping  black  eyes. 

"Wonder  what  savage  we'll  go  over  with," 
pursued  Miss  Hickey,  stuffing  her  nightgown 
into  a  bag,  and  nonchalantly  running  her  comb 
and  toothbrush  into  her  stocking. 
~"Over?  Over?" 

"Yes,  over  to  Norris  in  the  stage." 

"Do  you  mean  that  savages  drive  them?" 
asked  Rosalie,  her  eyes  dilating. 

Miss  Hickey  laughed.  "Oh,  you're  more 
fun  than  a  barrel  o'  monkeys,"  she  observed. 
"The  drivers  certainly  are  savages.  You  can 
ask  anybody  in  the  Park." 

56 


Rosalie  Vincent 


Rosalie  smiled  faintly  as  she  began  twisting 
up  her  hair,  "Oh,  that's  some  more  Park  Eng 
lish,  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"I  hope  it'll  be  Jasper,"  said  Miss  Hickey, 
"but  we  won't  get  to  sit  by  him,  anyway.  The 
dudes  all  fight  for  the  driver's  seat.  I'm  going 
down  now.  Hurry  up,  Baby,  or  you  '11  catch  it." 

Rosalie  obeyed  in  a  panic,  and  was  soon 
ready  to  follow.  She  dreaded  the  ordeal  of  the 
breakfast-room,  and  prayed  that  she  might  be 
delivered  from  the  Bruces'  table.  Her  heart 
came  up  in  her  throat  when  she  saw  them 
enter  the  door ;  but  she  was  not  obliged  to 
wait  upon  them.  As  it  happened,  Miss  Hickey 
had  that  station,  and  Rosalie  devoted  herself 
assiduously  to  a  deaf  gentleman  who  was  trav 
eling  with  his  wife  and  a  young  woman  at 
sight  of  whom  Rosalie  colored.  "Oh,  how 
small  this  big  world  is!"  she  thought;  "but 
she  won't  remember  me.  We  seldom  met!" 
-  The  ordeal  of  breakfast  was  at  last  over, 
and  Rosalie  with  relief  yielded  herself  to  Miss 
Hickey's  orders,  and  presently  the  girls  stood 
on  the  great  piazza  of  the  hotel,  but  on  the  edge 
of  the  crowd,  watching  the  systematic  filling 
of  the  stages  which  were  starting  on  the  tour 
around  the  Park. 

57 


Clever  Betsy 


"How  shall  we  know  when  to  go?"  she 
asked  of  Miss  Hickey,  to  whose  side  she  clung 
in  the  confusion. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that,"  returned  the 
other.  "Have  some  gum?" 

She  offered  several  sticks  of  the  same  to 
Rosalie,  who  declined,  wishing  her  veil  were 
thicker  as  she  glanced  about,  dreading  to  see 
the  Bruce  party,  and  longing  to  be  safely  away. 

Miss  Hickey  slid  a  generous  quantity  of 
gum  into  her  own  mouth  and  then  settled  her 
hat  more  firmly  on  her  pompadour  by  a  re 
arrangement  of  largely  gemmed  hat-pins. 

While  she  proceeded  in  an  experienced  man 
ner  to  break  up  and  chew  the  gum-sticks  into 
a  solacing  sphere,  her  conversation  continued, 
untrammeled  by  this  effort. 

"Don't  you  hear  the  agent  calling  the  names 
off?"  she  asked.  "They  can't  any  of  'em  say 
where  they'll  go  any  more'n  we  can.  They're 
going  to  be  took  'round  the  Park  just  like  a 
kid  out  in  its  baby-wagon.  They  come  when 
they're  called,  you  bet;  and  they  don't  know 
where  their  bags  are  any  more  'n  you  do. 
When  they  get  to  the  Fountain  House  their 
bags '11  meet  'em  in  the  hotel;  then  to-morrow 
mornin'  they  '11  disappear  again  to  meet  'em 

58 


Rosalie  Vincent 


at  the  next  place.  Oh,  it 's  a  great  system  all 
right,  if  too  many  people  did  n't  come  at 
once.  They  have  awful  times  when  there 
ain't  enough  places  for  'em  to  sleep,  and  six  or 
seven  get  put  in  one  room.  These  folks  that 
are  too  exclusive  to  travel  with  a  party  are  the 
ones  that  get  left;  for  the  conductors  of  these 
tours  get  to  the  hotels  a  little  ahead  o'  the 
other  folks,  and  get  all  their  people  provided 
for;  and  it's  gallin'  to  know  you  pay  just  as 
much  as  anybody  and  yet  have  to  herd  in  with 
folks  you  never  saw  before  —  just  the  same 
as  poor  heavers  like  us."  And  Miss  Hickey 
gave  her  companion  a  nudge  that  nearly  made 
her  reel.  "Were  n't  you  the  mad  kid  last 
night?"  she  continued. 

"  I  think  you  were  the  mad  one, "  rejoined 
Rosalie.  "I  was  dazed.  —  O  Miss  Hickey!" 
She  made  the  exclamation  involuntarily;  for 
the  Bruce  party  came  out  of  a  door  not  far 
from  where  the  girls  were  standing,  and  they 
were  dressed  for  a  move. 

"Oh,  they're  not  lay-overs!"  exclaimed  Ro 
salie,  retreating  behind  Miss  Hickey's  broad 
shoulder. 

"Who — them?  Say,  what's  the  matter  with 
you?  Have  you  stole  their  diamonds?" 

59 


Clever  Betsy 


"Don't  you  think  they're  going  in  this  next 
stage?"  asked  Rosalie  nervously.  "Do  watch, 
Miss  Hickey ,  You  're  so  tall  you  can  see  every 
thing."  For  the  Braces  had  moved  to  the  other 
side  of  the  piazza  and  were  lost  in  the  crowd. 

"I  waited  on  those  folks  at  breakfast,"  said 
Miss  Hickey,  craning  her  neck  and  chewing 
with  such  open  vigor  that  she  momentarily 
recalled  a  dog  who  endeavors  to  rid  his  back 
teeth  of  a  caramel. 

"I  know  you  did,"  replied  Rosalie;  "I  saw." 

"Ain't  he  grand!"  exclaimed  Miss  Hickey. 
"I  thought  when  I  was  pourin'  his  coffee  that 
he  was  just  about  the  size  I  'd  like  to  go  through 
the  Park  with  on  a  weddin'  trip.  The  way  he 
said,  'No  sugar,  please!'  Oh,  it  was  just  grand. 
It  made  me  forget  every  swattie  at  the  post. 
There  ain't  an  officer  here  that  can  stand  up 
to  him,  I  don't  think." 

"Do  see  if  they  are  getting  into  that  stage!" 
asked  Rosalie,  still  in  retreat  behind  her  com 
panion's  ample  shoulder. 

"Nit,"  responded  Mr.  Bruce's  admirer  sen- 
tentiously.  "That  swell  woman  with  him  went 
down  the  steps  to  get  in,  but  his  nibs  there 
that's  loadin'  'em  told  her  to  chase  herself." 

The  crowd  was  dispersing  with  celerity. 
60 


Rosalie  Vincent 


"There  ain't  but  two  stages  left/'  went  on 
Miss  Hickey,  with  excitement.  "  If  they  don't 
go  in  that  next  one,  we're  all  booked  to  go 
together.  Say,  would  n't  that  be  grand?" 

"No!  No!  No!"  exclaimed  Rosalie,  emerg 
ing  from  her  barrier  and  watching  with  dilated 
eyes. 

The  stage  swept  up  to  the  steps.  The  tour 
ists  swarmed  into  it  like  bees.  Again  Mrs. 
Bruce  essayed  to  enter,  and  Rosalie  could  see 
Irving  draw  her  back,  while  Betsy  Foster  stood 
impassive  at  a  little  distance,  observing  the 
scene  with  inexpressive  eyes. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    LAST   STAGE 

"I  SHOULD  like  to  know  why  they  put  us  in 
the  last  stage!"  demanded  Mrs.  Bruce,  in  an 
irate  tone. 

"Many  advantages,"  returned  Irving,  with 
a  twinkle  of  his  eyes  toward  Betsy. 

"There  are  not,  Irving  Bruce,  and  you  ought 
to  have  done  something  about  it !  Have  n't  we 
always  heard  about  the  dust  of  the  Yellow 
stone?" 

"Yes,  that's  why  they  oil  the  roads  now," 
returned  Bruce  pacifically,  "  and  we  don't  have 
to  hurry,  by  this  means,  you  see.  Take  our 
own  time.  Don't  have  to  hurry  past  anything 
to  make  room  for  the  next  stage." 

"I  never  could  endure  leavings!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Bruce,  her  eyes  still  snapping  as  the  last 
stage  came  around  the  curve  toward  the  steps. 

Betsy  attracted  her  attention. 

"See  those  folks  you  said  looked  so  aristo 
cratic,"  she  said  quietly.  "They're  goin'  with 
us." 

Mrs.  Bruce  followed  the  direction  of  her 
62 


The  Last  Stage 


maid's  meaning  glance  and  observed  the  deaf 
gentleman's  party  of  three.  Insensibly  Mrs. 
Bruce's  ireful  expression  relaxed.  There  was 
that  in  the  tone  of  this  party  which  could 
lend  distinction  even  to  the  last  stage. 

Mrs.  Bruce  gazed  at  the  trio  appreciatively. 

"I  marvel,"  she  murmured  to  Betsy,  "that 
they  have  n't  their  own  equipage." 

Betsy  sighed  with  relief  and  felt  that  the  day 
was  won. 

Having  observed  the  dignified,  florid-faced 
man  with  the  white  mustache,  the  tall  wo 
man  in  half-mourning,  and  the  quiet  young 
girl  who  accompanied  them,  Mrs.  Bruce  spoke 
again  distinctly:  — 

"If  I  should  not  be  taking  any  one's  place 
on  the  driver's  seat,  I  should  like  to  sit  there 
very  much." 

"We  shall  take  turns  as  to  that,  I  fancy," 
replied  Irving.  He  noticed  the  small  rubber 
device  hanging  about  the  neck  of  the  deaf 
gentleman  and  turned  to  the  lady  beside  him. 

"Will  you  sit  up  in  front  to  start  off?"  he 
asked,  lifting  his  hat.  "Your  husband  enjoys 
more  through  the  eyes  than  through  the  ears, 
I  observe." 

The  lady,  with  whom  smiles  were  evidently 

63 


Clever  Betsy 


a  rarity,  met  his  eyes  and  essayed  one.  She 
thanked  him,  and  turning  to  her  companion 
pointed  to  the  driver's  place,  as  they  moved 
down  the  steps. 

The  gentleman  shook  his  head  and  motioned 
the  lady  into  the  middle  seat  of  the  stage,  which 
she  entered. 

"But  where  is  Robert?"  she  exclaimed  in 
a  sort  of  dignified  panic.  "Miss  Maynard," 
turning  to  the  companion  who  waited  passively, 
"  I  thought  you  said  you  saw  my  son  a  moment 
ago." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Nixon,  in  the  office,"  replied  the 
girl. 

"Henry!  Henry!"  pursued  the  lady,  push 
ing  against  the  deaf  gentleman's  shoulder  both 
to  attract  his  attention  and  to  prevent  his 
entering  the  stage.  "Robert!"  She  mouthed 
the  name  distinctly  and  motioned  toward  the 
hotel.  "Robert!" 

"Damn  Robert!"  returned  the  other,  under 
the  usual  impression  of  the  deaf  that  his  heart 
felt  expression  was  inaudible. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  no  one  observed  it  in 
the  confusion.  Mrs.  Bruce  was  absorbed  in 
mounting  to  the  coveted  place  with  the  driver. 
Irving  offered  to  put  Betsy  up  beside  her;  but 


The  Last  Stage 


Miss  Foster  declined.  "Get  right  up  there, 
Mr.  Irving.  I'm  going  in  here  behind  you." 

Meanwhile  the  two  waitresses  had  obeyed 
a  summons,  and  Rosalie  with  her  head  down 
and  praying  to  be  invisible  hastened  with  her 
companion  to  the  steps.  Her  prayer  was  an 
swered,  because  all  the  party  were  too  pre 
occupied  to  note  the  two  girls  who  came 
swiftly  by  and  entered  the  back  seat  of  the 
stage.  Moreover,  at  the  same  moment  out 
from  the  door  of  the  hotel  came  a  young  fellow 
in  outing  clothes  and  cap,  who  was  greeted 
with  well-bred  rebuke  by  Mrs.  Nixon,  and  a 
grunt  of  relief  from  the  deaf  gentleman,  who 
put  Miss  Maynard  into  the  seat  and  followed 
her. 

"Well,  I  told  you  not  to  bring  me,  didn't 
I?"  responded  Robert.  His  voice  was  loud 
and  cheery,  and  had,  in  his  more  gleeful  mo 
ments,  a  trick  of  breaking  into  a  high  register 
with  a  joyous  inflection  which  endeared  him 
to  those  who  enjoyed  his  conversation.  He 
was  clean,  gay,  and  young;  but  if  he  possessed 
any  beauty  it  was  of  the  mind ;  and  among  his 
acquaintance  there  was  a  wide  difference  of 
opinion  on  this  point. 

While  his  mother  voiced  her  dignified  re- 

65 


Clever  Betsy 


buke,  his  quick  eye  glanced  along  the  stage 
to  take  in  its  possibilities. 

Rosalie  was  shrunk  into  the  further  corner 
of  her  seat,  directly  behind  the  Nixon  party, 
and  Miss  Hickey,  meeting  his  glance,  chewed 
vigorously  while  lifting  her  head  with  an 
elegant  air  of  impersonality. 

In  Robert's  own  mental  vernacular  he 
"passed  up  the  gum." 

The  driver's  seat  was  full,  the  alternative 
was  the  one  in  front  of  his  mother's  party, 
where  Betsy  Foster  reigned  alone.  He  stepped 
in  beside  her  while  he  spoke  to  his  mother. 

"I  told  you  not  to  bring  me,"  he  declared 
again,  cheerfully.  "I  told  you  I'd  be  more 
trouble  than  I  was  worth." 

"You  actually  detained  the  stage,  dear.  I 
was  about  to  send  your  uncle  Henry  to  find 
you." 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  culprit  snatched  the 
device  which  aided  the  deaf  gentleman's  hear 
ing,  and  shrieked  across  it  above  the  clatter 
of  the  stage. 

"Don't  you  ever  do  it,  Uncle  Henry.  Rise 
up  and  declare  your  rights.  What  if  I  am 
lost?" 

"That's  what  I  say,"  responded  the  older 
66 


The  Last  Stage 


man,  equably.  "Small  loss.  One  of  my  rights 
is  not  to  have  my  ear-drums  cracked.  They're 
sufficiently  nicked  already." 

He  took  back  the  rubber  disk  with  decision. 

Irving  had  turned  around  during  this  inter 
change  and  looked  down  from  his  high  perch. 

"Hello,  Nixie,"  he  said. 

Robert  leaned  forward  with  alacrity,  and 
took  the  down-stretched  hand. 

66  Et  tu,  Brute  ?"  he  cried,  his  voice  breaking 
joyously. 

Betsy  stole  the  first  glance  at  her  companion. 
His  unfeigned  gladness  to  see  her  idol  was  in 
his  favor. 

He  turned  to  his  mother:  "Bruce  of  our 
class.  Did  n't  you  recognize  him?  Best  full 
back  the  college  ever  saw." 

"I  did  think  there  was  something  familiar 
about  that  young  man's  face,"  responded  Mrs. 
Nixon.  "Most  attractive;  and  such  charming 
manners."  Her  carefully  modulated  voice  fell 
agreeably  on  Miss  Foster's  ears.  "He  tried  to 
give  us  the  front  seat;  but  the  lady  with  him," 
Mrs.  Nixon  raised  her  eyebrows,  "was  so  very 
anxious  to  secure  it,  that  I  was  glad  your  uncle 
refused." 

Mrs.  Bruce  turned  and  looked  down  to  see 
67 


Clever  Betsy 


Irving's  friend,  and  exclaimed  at  once,  beam 
ing  with  interest:  — 

"I  remember  you  perfectly,  Mr.  Nixon. 
You  were  so  funny  on  Class  Day."  As  Mrs. 
Bruce  spoke,  her  eyes  roved  again  to  the 
young  man's  party. 

"I  remember  you  at  the  games  too,  Mrs. 
Bruce,"  replied  the  young  fellow,  rising,  "and 
for  the  same  reason.  You  were  so  funny! 
We're  a  couple  of  family  parties,  it  seems. 
My  mother,  and  my  uncle,  Mr.  Derwent,  are 
here,  and  at  the  first  stop  we'll  all  become 
acquainted," 

So  saying,  Robert  dropped  back  into  his 
seat,  and  turning  with  scarce  a  pause  to  his 
mother,  said  explanatorily,  "Brute's  step 
mother.  An  up-and-coming  dame.  You  will 
have  to  meet  her." 

Mrs.  Nixon  frowned  at  him  significantly 
and  nodded  her  head  toward  Betsy's  immov 
able  back. 

"All  right,"  said  Robert  airily,  and  glanced 
at  the  woman  who  shared  his  place.  The  wal 
nut  profile  impressed  itself  upon  him  for  the 
first  time,  and  in  connection  with  the  Bruces 
he  now  remembered  the  woman  to  whom 
Irving  had  been  so  attentive  on  various  col- 

68 


The  Last  Stage 


lege  occasions.  "I'll  be  jiggered,"  thought  the 
youth,  "if  it  isn't  Brute's  nurse!  Well,  we 
are  being  chaperoned  through  the  park,  good 
and  plenty." 

Then  he  amazed  his  mother  by  addressing 
his  companion. 

"  Why,  how  d'  ye  do?  Why  did  n't  you  speak 
tome?" 

Betsy  gave  her  odd  one-sided  smile  as  she 
looked  back  at  his  cheerfully  grinning  coun 
tenance. 

"It's  all  so  long  ago  now,  Mr.  Nixon,  I 
did  n't  suppose  you'd  remember  me.  I  did  n't 
know  you  at  first." 

"I'm  not  at  all  surprised.  I've  grown  old 
and  decrepit  in  the  last  two  years;  but  to  show 
you  my  mind  is  n't  failing  yet,  I  can  tell  you 
where  I  last  saw  you.  It  was  in  a  gondola  in 
Venice." 

Betsy  smiled  and  nodded. 

"I  remember  your  calling  across  to  Mr. 
Irving  very  well,  Mr.  Nixon." 

"Good.  Your  memory's  all  right,  too." 

Helen  Maynard,  sitting  quiet  and  forgotten 
at  Mrs.  Nixon's  elbow,  looked  at  Robert  with 
some  approval  for  the  first  time.  He  swung 
around  in  his  seat  so  suddenly  that  he  acci- 

69 


Clever  Betsy 


dentally  caught  her  glance.  Miss  Maynard 
had  a  symmetrical  little  nose  and  mouth,  and 
he  liked  the  way  she  did  her  hair;  and  wearing 
her  present  expression  it  occurred  to  him  for 
the  first  time  that  the  young  woman,  who  was 
both  his  uncle's  stenographer  and  his  mother's 
companion,  was  rather  fetching. 

"Did  you  see  the  formation  pretty  thor 
oughly  yesterday,  Miss  Maynard?"  he  asked 
briskly. 

Her  quickly  averted  eyes  sought  the  splen 
did  sweeps  of  Jupiter  Terrace  which  the  stage 
was  now  passing. 

"Quite  thoroughly,"  she  replied  briefly. 

"We  went  the  regular  round,"  said  Mrs. 
Nixon.  "Your  uncle  was  really  bewitched 
with  everything." 

Mr.  Derwent,  his  hands  crossed  upon  the 
head  of  the  stick  he  carried,  sat  in  the  isolation 
of  the  deaf;  his  eyes  fastened  upon  the  delicate 
and  wonderful  coloring  of  the  stationary  cas 
cades  of  deposit,  over  which  the  water  was 
trickling;  building  —  ever  building  greater 
beauty  with  its  puny  persistence. 

He  caught  his  nephew's  eye  with  a  good- 
humored  twinkle.  "Great  example  of  what 
industry  will  do,"  he  remarked. 

70 


The  Last  Stage 


"Fierce!"  replied  Robert,  and  made  an 
energetic  dive  for  the  rubber  disk,  which  his 
uncle  foiled  by  a  quick  move.  The  youth 
fixed  Mr.  Derwent  with  his  gaze,  and  moved 
his  lips  with  care  to  be  distinct. 

"I've  always  refused,"  he  declared  loudly, 
"to  have  the  busy  bee  or  the  coral  insect 
thrown  at  me ;  and  I  now  add  the  Yellowstone 
water  to  the  black  list." 

"If  words,"  replied  Mr.  Derwent,  "could 
build  anything,  you  would  rear  temples  of 
amazing  height,  Robert." 

"And  rare  beauty,  "added  the  youth.  "Don't 
forget  that,  please." 

Miss  Hickey  changed  her  gum  to  the  other 
side  of  her  mouth.  "Ain't  he  fresh?"  she  mur 
mured  to  her  companion.  "Did  you  see  the 
look  I  gave  him  when  he  come  up  to  the  stage  ? 
I  tell  you  I  was  n't  goin'  to  have  him  crowdin' 
in  here  with  us." 

"I  waited  on  them  at  breakfast,"  murmured 
Rosalie.  "He's  just  jolly  all  the  time." 

Miss  Hickey  bridled.  "Well,  he  would  n't 
jolly  me  more'n  once.  I  know  his  kind:  awful 
fresh;"  and  the  gum  gave  a  vault  and  turn 
which  only  the  most  experienced  can  accom 
plish. 


Clever  Betsy 


"And  they're  all  friends!"  murmured  Rosa 
lie  apprehensively. 

"Oh,  brace  up!"  returned  Miss  Hickey  im 
patiently.  "  If  you  have  n't  stolen  their  spoons 
I  don't  see  what  you  're  so  scared  of;  and  you  're 
too  much  of  a  baby  to  have  done  that." 

"No,  I  never  —  never  lived  out  anywhere," 
breathed  Rosalie. 

"Well,  if  you  think  it's  such  a  disgrace  to 
be  a  waitress  in  the  Park,  what  did  you  come 
for?" 

As  Miss  Hickey  scented  offense,  her  tone 
began  to  rise,  and  Rosalie  grasped  her  arm 
pacifically.  "No,  no,  it  isn't  that!  It  isn't 
in  the  least  that!" 

The  girl's  conscience  squirmed  a  little  as  she 
made  this  reply,  and  she  swallowed  and  went 
on.  "It's  a  long  story,  too  long  to  tell,  and  not 
interesting;  but  oh,  Miss  Hickey,  do  try  to 
wait  on  the  Bruces  this  noon,  won't  you,  like 
a  dear  good  girl!" 

"T  won't  be  up  to  me;  but  I'd  be  mighty 
glad  to  do  it,  you  bet !  Did  you  hear  that  fresh 
chap  call  him  Bruty?  Bruty!  That  prince! 
Well,  I've  got  a  name  for  him  all  right.  Did 
you  ever  study  about  them  heathen  gods? 
I  did.  I've  got  an  awful  good  education  if  I 

72 


The  Last  Stage 


do  say  it;  and  there  was  one  of  'em  so  ugly 
if  he  walked  by  a  clock  it  would  stop.  His 
name  was —  let 's  see;  it  was  Calabash.  Well, 
it  just  fits  that  feller  to  a  T.  If  I  looked  like 
that,  I  'd  go  way  back  and  sit  down  instead  of 
fillin'  the  stage  so't  nobody  can  look  at  any 
body  but  him." 

"The  girl  with  them  seems  to  be  a  com 
panion,"  whispered  Rosalie.  "I  tried  to  get 
that  sort  of  a  place." 

"Oh,  shoot!"  returned  Miss  Hickey,  trying 
the  endurance  of  the  gum  severely.  "I  could 
get  that  job  easy,  I  know,  on  account  of  my 
education  and  knowin'  my  way  round  the  way 
I  do;  but  there  ain't  enough  freedom  to  it. 
If  we'd  rather  go  to  a  Swattie  ball  now  than 
to  sleep,  we  have  our  choice;  but  a  companion 
has  got  to  be  right  on  the  job  night  and  day." 

Rosalie  looked  off  at  the  distant  mountains, 
and  then  back  at  the  nape  of  Miss  Maynard's 
pretty  neck,  and  began  to  wonder  if  she  was 
as  lonely  as  herself.  Apparently  Mrs.  Nixon 
addressed  no  one  except  her  son,  and  Rosalie 
guessed  that  Miss  Maynard,  placed  behind 
her  employer's  cold  shoulder,  was  in  reality 
as  far  removed  from  her  as  she  herself  felt 
with  regard  to  her  neighbor. 

73 


Clever  Betsy 


The  beautiful,  beautiful  world!  Rosalie 
sighed  and  leaned  fonvard,  the  better  to  get 
the  splendid  sweep  of  vale  and  mountain,  and 
suddenly  caught  the  eyes  of  Robert  Nixon, 
his  arm  thrown  along  the  back  of  the  seat  as 
he  turned  to  converse  with  his  mother.  Rosa 
lie  shrank  back  into  her  corner.  Betsy  Foster 
might  turn  around,  too! 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    NATIONAL    PARK 

PERCHED  on  the  driver's  seat,  with  Irving 
beside  her,  Mrs.  Bruce  was  as  near  the  zenith 
of  contentment  as  falls  to  the  lot  of  mortal. 

The  driver  himself,  philosopher  as  he  was, 
discovered  in  the  first  three  miles  that  it  would 
not  be  necessary  for  him  to  volunteer  any  in 
formation,  as  everything  he  knew  would  be 
extracted  from  him,  down  to  the  last  dregs  of 
supposition. 

"Three  thousand  feet  of  ascent  in  a  mile, 
Irving!  Think  of  it!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bruce, 
as  they  neared  the  Hoodoo  Rocks. 

"  I  'd  rather  think  of  an  ascent  of  one  thou 
sand  feet  in  three  miles,"  returned  Irving. 
"It's  less  strain  on  the  brain." 

The  driver  gave  him  an  appreciative  glance 
across  Mrs.  Bruce's  smart  traveling  hat. 

"Oh,  is  that  it?"  she  rejoined.  "Perhaps 
I  did  get  it  a  little  twisted." 

Here  they  came  in  full  view  of  the  desert 
of  gaunt,  pallid  trees,  amid  the  gigantic 
Hoodoo  Rocks. 

75 


Clever  Betsy 


"Oh,  what  a  dreadful  scene!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Bruce.  "Such  a  dreary  stretch  of  death 
and  desolation!  Driver,  why  do  they  allow 
such  a  thing  in  the  Park?" 

A  hunted  expression  came  into  the  driver's 
eyes.  He  had  been  gradually  growing  more 
and  more  mechanical  in  his  replies.  Now  he 
maintained  a  stony  silence. 

"If  I  were  here  at  night,  alone,"  continued 
Mrs.  Bruce,  "I  should  go  straight  out  of  my 
mind!  I'm  so  temperamental  I  could  not  — 
I  really  could  not  bear  it;"  and  she  shuddered. 

"Then  I  positively  forbid  your  coming  here 
alone  at  night,"  declared  Irving.  "We  must 
preserve  your  mind,  Madama,  at  all  costs." 

"But  it's  a  blot  on  the  Park.  It's  more  sug 
gestive  than  the  worst  Dore  picture.  Boo!" 
Mrs.  Bruce  shuddered  again,  and  looked  fear 
fully  at  the  dead  forest,  sparse  and  wild,  rear 
ing  its  barkless  trunks  amid  the  giant  rocks 
of  wild  and  threatening  form.  "The  govern 
ment  ought  to  do  something  about  it." 

"You  flatter  Uncle  Sam,"  said  Irving.  "I 
don't  think  any  one  else  expects  him  to  move 


mountains." 


"Well,   they  might   train   vines   over  it," 
suggested  Mrs.  Bruce;  and  the  driver  burst 

76 


The  National  Park 


into  some  sound  which  ended  in  a  fit  of  cough 
ing,  while  Irving  laughed. 

The  sudden  beauty  of  the  scenery  diverted 
Mrs.  Bruce  from  her  plans  for  reform.  Her 
enthusiasm  over  the  view  led  her  to  turn  and 
look  down  to  catch  Betsy's  eye. 

"Are  you  seeing?"  she  cried. 

Betsy  nodded  several  times  to  express  appre 
ciation. 

"  It's  just  like  life,  is  n't  it?"  went  on  Mrs. 
Bruce  pensively  to  her  son.  "Full  of  startling 
contrasts.  Do  you  know,  Irving,  I  think  Mr. 
Nixon  is  talking  to  Betsy?" 

"No  doubt  he  remembers  her,"  returned 
Irving.  "He  has  seen  her  as  often  as  he  has 
you." 

"That's  true;  but  it's  nice  of  him,  just  the 


same.'3 


Irving  smiled.  "Nixie's  got  to  talk,"  he 
remarked. 

"But  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce,  "there 
are  snobs  in  the  world." 

"So  I've  heard." 

"I  like  Mr.  Nixon,  anyway,"  she  went  on 
argumentatively.  "It  isn't  necessary  for  a 
man  to  be  handsome." 

Irving  sighed.  "What  a  blessed  relief  that 
77 


Clever  Betsy 


you  think  so,  Madama!  Otherwise  I'm  sure 
you'd  call  upon  the  Creator,  and  make  it  a 
subject  of  prayer." 

"Irving,  you're  making  fun  of  me." 

"You  know,  Madama,  that  I  never  did 
such  a  thing." 

The  stage  drew  to  a  standstill.  Rosalie 
Vincent's  eyes  were  starry  as  she  looked  in 
worshipful  silence,  and  she  momentarily  for 
got  her  situation. 

Miss  Hickey  gazed  and  chewed. 

"  I  Ve  got  to  have  me  a  new  apron,"  she  said. 
"A  chump  in  the  kitchen  burned  one  o'  mine 
yesterday." 

The  stage  moved  on  and  paused  again  in 
the  picturesque  pass  that  leads  to  the  Golden 
Gate,  while  all  eyes  rested  upon  the  Rustic 
Waterfall,  whose  tuneful  grace  as  it  leaps  from 
ledge  to  ledge  down  the  worn  rock,  speaks  of 
life  and  beauty,  striking  after  the  desolation 
just  passed. 

Mrs.  Bruce's  suspended  accusation  was 
repeated  as  the  horses  started.  "You  do  make 
fun  of  me,  Irving,"  she  said. 

"No,  no,"  he  returned.  "I  simply  recog 
nize  your  spirit  of  knight-errantry.  Glorious 
business."  He  smiled  at  her.  "Journeying 

78 


The  National  Park 


through  the  world  and  righting  wrongs  as 
you  go." 

"I  really  do  think  the  vines  would  be  a 
lovely  idea,"  she  declared;  and  the  driver 
coughed  again. 

"See  how  the  Hoodoos  prepared  you  to 
revel  in  the  present  beauty,"  said  Irving. 
"You  just  said  that  it  wasn't  necessary  for 
all  men  to  be  handsome.  Same  thing  applies 
to  landscape,  does  n't  it?" 

"But  his  mother  is  very  handsome,  I 
think,"  replied  Mrs.  Bruce,  her  butterfly 
habit  of  mind  coming  in  play;  "and  that 
gentleman,  —  did  he  say  — " 

"Are  you  talking  about  Nixie?  Oh  yes,  his 
mother  is  grande  dame,  and  I've  heard  him 
speak  of  that  uncle,  Mr.  Derwent,  often.  He's 
the  capitalist  of  the  family,  I  believe." 

"The  girl,"  went  on  Mrs.  Bruce,  "  seems  to 
be  a  companion.  I  noticed  Mrs.  Nixon  did  n't 
say  much  to  her." 

"Is  that  the  sign  of  companionship?"  asked 
Irving.  "Something  for  you  to  fix,  Madama." 

"She's  a  very  ladylike  looking  girl,"  replied 
Mrs.  Bruce. 

"Nixie '11  talk  to  her  all  right  if  she  has  ears," 
remarked  Irving. 

79 


Clever  Betsy 


"It's  very  nice  of  him  to  be  nice  to  Betsy. 
Who  else  is  in  the  stage?" 

"I  did  n't  notice." 

"Driver,"  Mrs.  Bruce  turned  to  her  bureau 
of  information,  "did  you  notice  who  is  on 
the  back  seat  of  our  stage?" 

The  driver's  imperturbable  lips  parted. 
"They  put  two  heavers  in  there,  I  believe," 
he  replied. 

"/FAo  ?"  Mrs.  Bruce  spoke  in  italics. 

"Waitresses  from  the  hotel.  They  move 
them  sometimes  with  the  crowd." 

Mrs.  Bruce  kept  silence  a  moment  to  recover 
the  shock.  The  presence  of  the  Nixon  party 
still  proved  the  respectability  of  the  last  stage, 
however. 

"Heavers!  Is  that  your  slang  out  here?" 
she  asked  at  last,  and  laughed.  "I  hope  that 
is  n't  descriptive  of  the  way  we're  going  to  be 
waited  on,  Irving." 

Rosalie's  heart  fluttered  again  on  leaving  the 
stage  at  Norris  Basin;  but  the  celerity  with 
which  the  experienced  Miss  Hickey  hurried  her 
into  the  hotel  to  take  up  their  duties  aided  her 
wish  to  be  unnoticed.  The  verandas  were  alive 
with  passengers  already  arrived,  all  ravenous 
from  hours  of  coaching  in  the  mountain  air. 

80 


The  National  Park 


At  last  Rosalie,  in  her  white  gown  and  apron, 
stood  in  her  appointed  place,  and  the  crowds 
began  to  be  let  into  the  dining-room.  Miss 
Hickey  was  at  some  distance  from  Rosalie, 
and  the  latter  felt  a  little  hysterical  rise  in  her 
throat  in  the  knowledge  that  the  snapping 
black  eyes  were  watching  for  Irving  Bruce. 

The  Nixon  party  came  before  the  Bruces, 
and  Mr.  Derwent  spied  Rosalie  and  hastened 
his  dignified  footsteps  toward  her  table. 

"The  waitress  we  had  this  morning,"  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Nixon.  "She  has  a  head  on  her." 

"Sounds  alluringly  like  champagne,"  mur 
mured  Robert  to  Miss  Maynard,  who  ignored 
him. 

Rosalie  involuntarily  gave  a  shy  smile  as 
Mr.  Derwent  nodded  at  her.  She  could  have 
embraced  them  all  in  her  gladness  to  be  deliv 
ered  from  waiting  on  the  Bruces,  who  now 
entered,  and,  tragical  to  relate,  fell  short  of 
Miss  Rickey's  table.  That  damsel,  however, 
being  at  once  overwhelmed  with  orders  from 
a  famished  group,  had  no  time  to  mourn. 

Mr.  Derwent  looked  with  pleasant  eyes  at 
Rosalie  when  he  ordered  his  soup. 

"You  enjoyed  the  drive  over,"  he  said. 
"There  are  roses  in  your  cheeks." 

81 


Clever  Betsy 


"Yes,  sir.  Consomme?"  returned  Rosalie 
faintly,  the  blush  roses  referred  to  deepening 
to  Jacqueminot. 

Robert  glanced  up  and  saw  that  this  was 
the  fair  girl  who  had  kept  so  still  behind  her 
veil  on  the  back  seat  all  the  morning. 

"I  take  my  hat  off  to  Uncle  Henry,"  he 
said,  again  addressing  Helen  Maynard,  who 
was  seated  beside  him.  "  He  can  see  more  out 
of  the  back  of  his  head  than  I  can  with  my 
eyes." 

"I  will  order  for  us  both,"  said  Mrs.  Nixon 
to  Rosalie;  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  do  so 
with  an  air  which  forbade  levity. 

When  Rosalie  had  received  her  orders  and 
hastened  from  the  room,  Robert  again  un 
burdened  himself. 

"  If  I  could  get  at  that  rubber  ear  of  Uncle 
Henry's,"  he  remarked  to  his  demure  neighbor, 
"  I  'd  tell  him  he  was  a  sad  dog.  A  very  good 
thing  he  brought  me  on  this  trip." 

"Mr.  Derwent's  eyes  mean  more  to  him 
than  ours  do  to  us,  naturally,"  returned  Helen. 

"And  I  tell  you,"  returned  Robert  devoutly, 
"anybody  endears  himself  to  Uncle  Henry 
who  brings  his  coffee  just  right.  That  blonde 
must  have  done  it  this  morning.  How,"  turn- 

82 


The  National  Park 


ing  to  his  mother,  "does  my  mother  enjoy 
democratic  traveling?  This  girl  is  a  peach; 
but  you  should  see  the  other  one  that  was 
with  her  this  morning  in  the  coach.  Did 
you?" 

"No,"  returned  Mrs.  Nixon  coldly.  "Why 
should  I  trouble  myself  about  my  neighbors? 
I  came  to  see  the  scenery." 

"Well,"  Robert  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
"all  is,  you've  missed  a  chance  to  see  how  a 
perfect  lady  should  behave.  Her  gum-man 
ners  were  a  dream;  but  cheer  up!  You'll  have 
a  chance  this  afternoon,  doubtless." 

Here  Rosalie  brought  the  soup.  Helen 
Maynard  looked  up  at  her  and  received  a 
strange  impression  of  familiarity. 

"She  looks  like  some  one,"  she  said  softly. 
"Who  is  it?" 

"I  know,"  responded  Robert  promptly, 
"Hebe." 

"I  haven't  met  her  yet,"  returned  Helen. 
"I'm  climbing  the  mount  of  Olympus  by  slow 
and  easy  stages." 

"Now  if  you  mean  anything  about  me" 
returned  Robert  briskly,  "speak  right  out. 
I  can't  cope  with  clever  people.  If  you  're 
clever,  I'm  done  for." 

83 


Clever  Betsy 


"Oh!"  ejaculated  Helen  softly.  "Lam 
beth!" 

"Is  that  any  relative  to  shibboleth?"  effer 
vesced  Robert.  "Because  I  can  say  it.  See? 
Better  let  me  in." 

"Lambeth  is  a  school,"  returned  Helen, 
and  stole  another  look  at  their  busy  waitress; 
"a  school  where  I  went." 

Irving  Bruce  had  Betsy  on  his  right  hand, 
but  Mrs.  Bruce  absorbed  him;  and  Betsy  sat 
looking  before  her,  idly  waiting  for  her  meal. 
Her  roving  glance  fell  suddenly  on  Rosalie's 
blond  head  as  the  girl  was  leaving  the  dining- 
room. 

"Why,  that  looked  like  Rosalie  Vincent," 
she  reflected;  then  thought  no  more  of  it  until 
later,  when,  her  eyes  again  roving  to  that  table, 
she  obtained  a  full  view  of  the  fair-haired 
waitress  as  the  girl  refilled  Mr.  Derwent's 
glass. 

Betsy  held  her  knife  and  fork  poised,  while 
her  steady-going  heart  contracted  for  a  sec 
ond.  "That  is  Rosalie  Vincent!"  She  held 
the  exclamation  well  inside,  and  looked  at 
her  neighbors.  They  had  evidently  noticed 
nothing,  and  Betsy  devoutly  hoped  they 
would  not.  It  was  doubtful  whether  Mrs. 

84 


The  National  Park 


Bruce  would  recognize  her  protegee  in  any 
case;  but  instinctively  Betsy  desired  to  pre 
vent  her  from  doing  so;  and  contrary  to  her 
habit  of  speaking  only  when  she  was  spoken 
to,  she  began  commenting  on  the  scenery;  and 
Mrs.  Bruce  was  impressed  with  the  unusual 
docility  and  willingness  to  be  enlightened 
displayed  by  her  stiff-necked  maid,  whose 
thoughts  were  busy  during  the  whole  of  her 
mistress's  patronizing  information. 

"And  some  time,  Betsy,"  finished  Mrs. 
Bruce,  "I  will  show  you  some  pictures  by  a 
great  artist  named  Dore,  illustrating  the 
Inferno,  and  you  will  be  reminded  of  the 
Hoodoo  Rocks." 

Betsy  listened  and  replied  so  respectfully 
that  her  mistress  remarked  on  it  afterwards 
to  Irving. 

"All  this  travel  is  developing  that  hard, 
narrow  New  England  mind  of  Betsy's,"  she 
said.  "You  can  see  it." 

And  all  the  time  Miss  Foster  was  in  a  mild 
Inferno  of  her  own,  for  her  heart  had  always 
warmed  to  Rosalie  Vincent,  who  used  fre 
quently  to  make  her  the  confidante  of  her 
small  hopes  and  fears,  and  whose  sunny,  con 
fiding  nature  had  endeared  her  to  Betsy,  and 

85 


Clever  Betsy 


often  aroused  an  unspoken  sympathy  in  the 
sordid  conditions  of  the  girl's  lot. 

Betsy's  one  ambition  now  was  to  get  the 
Bruces  out  of  the  dining-room  before  Mrs. 
Bruce  should  discover  where  the  wings  she 
had  bestowed  upon  Rosalie  had  fluttered. 

"I  won't  try  to  see  the  child,"  thought 
Betsy,  "but  I'll  write  to  her  as  soon  as  we 
get  away  from  here."  She  cast  a  furtive  glance 
at  the  young  girl.  "She  looks  like  one  o'  these 
pretty  actresses,"  she  thought,  "rigged  up  to 
wait  on  table  on  the  stage." 

She  saw  that  Rosalie  was  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  Bruce  party,  and  nervous  in  the  fear 
of  recognition;  and  this  added  to  her  relief 
when,  Mrs.  Bruce's  appetite  satisfied,  she 
begged  Irving  to  hurry  so  that  they  might 
view  the  smoking  wonders  without. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    BLONDE    HEAVER 

"ISN'T  it  remarkable,"  asked  Mrs.  Bruce, 
"  that  we  were  just  talking  about  the  Inferno  ? " 

She,  with  her  companions,  had  come  down 
from  the  hotel  into  the  hissing,  steaming  tract 
of  the  Norris  Basin. 

Deep  rumblings  were  in  their  ears.  Narrow 
plank-walks  formed  a  footing  amid  innumer 
able  tiny  boiling  springs,  while  the  threaten 
ing  roar  of  larger  ebullitions  and  the  heavy  sul 
phurous  odors  of  the  air  gave  every  indication 
that  here  indeed  was  the  gateway  to  that 
region  where  our  forefathers  believed  that  the 
unlucky  majority  paid  the  uttermost  farthing. 

The  Nixons  had  also  elected  to  walk  through 
the  Basin,  meeting  the  stage  at  a  point  farther 
on. 

"Say,  Brute,"  called  Robert,  "does  n't  this 
beat  New  Year's  for  the  time,  the  place,  and 
the  good  resolution?" 

Mrs.  Nixon's  nostrils  dilated  in  disgust  at 
the  evil  smells. 

Irving  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  expression. 

87 


Clever  Betsy 


"Mrs.  Nixon  is  making  up  her  mind  never 
again  to  do  anything  wrong,"  he  remarked. 

"I  always  said  my  Hades  would  be  noise," 
she  replied,  "but  I  begin  to  think  it  will  be 
odors." 

"I  always  said  mine  would  be  dirt,"  de 
clared  Mrs.  Bruce,  "but  I  believe  I'd  prefer 
that  to  being  boiled.  Irving,  don't  you  let  go 
of  me.  This  is  the  wickedest  place  I  ever  saw. 
Those  little  sizzling  springs  are  just  hissing  to 
catch  my  feet." 

The  party  stopped  to  watch  the  heavy 
plop-plop  of  a  mud  geyser. 

"Now,"  said  Robert,  "while  we're  all 
thinking  on  our  sins  and  properly  humble,  is 
the  time  to  get  acquainted.  Mrs.  Bruce,  this 
is  my  mother,  and  my  uncle  Mr.  Derwent, 
and  Miss  Maynard;  and  Mr.  Bruce  you  all 
know  by  reputation." 

Betsy  had  moved  to  a  remote  corner  of  the 
geyser. 

"I  never  know  just  how  to  address  that 
member  of  your  party,"  said  Robert  to  Irving. 

The  latter  smiled.  "She  would  tell  you  she 
was  just  Betsy.  She's  such  a  good  soul  that 
down  East,  in  the  village  where  she  comes 
from,  they  call  her  Clever  Betsy;  and  she's 

88 


The  Blonde  Heaver 


all  that  New  England  means  by  the  adjective, 
and  all  that  Old  England  means,  too." 

Meanwhile  Rosalie  Vincent  was  making  her 
hasty  preparations  for  another  move,  and  to 
her  came  Miss  Hickey  in  a  state  of  high  satis 
faction. 

"I'm  staying,  Baby,"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
snapping.  "I  guess  there  must  be  a  lot  of 
lay-overs.  Anyway  they  need  me,  and  there's 
a  Swattie  ball  to-night.  Hurray!"  Miss 
Hickey  executed  a  triumphant  two-step  and 
knocked  over  a  chair. 

Rosalie  seized  her  arm.  "Can't  I  stay  too, 
then?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"No,  you  can't,  Blue-eyes.   You're  to  go." 

"Oh,  you  go  and  let  me  stay!"  begged 
Rosalie  nervously. 

"And  lose  the  ball?"  exclaimed  Miss 
Hickey.  "  Well,  believe  me,  you  Ve  got  nerve ! " 

Rosalie  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to  cry, 
and  Miss  Hickey's  good-nature  prompted  a 
bit  of  comfort. 

"Besides,  if  you're  afraid  of  the  lock-up, 
this  is  your  chance  to  side-step  those  folks. 
More'n  as  like  as  not  they're  among  the  lay 
overs." 

At  this  consideration  Rosalie  did  brighten, 
89 


Clever  Betsy 


and  when  the  last  stage  came  around,  Miss 
Hickey  was  present  to  speed  the  parting 
heaver  whose  apprehensive  glance  about  her 
saw  no  familiar  figure. 

"Oh,  they  are  staying,  Miss  Hickey!"  she 
exclaimed,  in  hushed  tones. 

The  sophisticated  Miss  Hickey  did  not  re 
spond,  but  nodded  affably  to  the  driver. 

Rosalie  breathed  a  relieved  farewell  as  she 
left  the  big-boned  bulwark  of  her  friend  and 
obeyed  the  agent's  signal  to  enter  the  back 
seat  of  the  stage.  The  vehicle  was  empty  but 
for  a  stout  man  with  a  field  glass  strapped 
across  his  shoulders  who  mounted  to  the  seat 
beside  the  driver,  and  they  started. 

The  whole  stage  to  herself!  Rosalie  could 
scarcely  believe  it. 

She  listened  to  the  strange  noises  in  the  air 
and  watched  the  steam  which,  mounting  high, 
would  make  one  believe  that  the  locality  was 
alive  with  factories.  The  girl's  curious  gaze 
roamed  about,  and  she  thought  wistfully  of 
such  travelers  as  might  visit  at  their  leisure 
the  wonders  about  her. 

There  were  great  beauties,  however,  even 
for  a  heaver  to  enjoy.  The  morning's  ride  had 
been  a  keen  pleasure  in  the  intervals  of  her 

90 


The  Blonde  Heaver 


embarrassment.  The  profusion  of  wild  flowers ; 
monk's-hood,  hare-bells,  and  Indian  paint 
brush,  had  fed  her  eyes  with  their  splashes 
of  color;  and  the  behavior  of  the  wild  animals 
made  one  think  of  the  millennium.  Sure  of 
protection  from  being  hunted  and  slain,  the 
chipmunks  sat  up  on  their  hind  legs  close  to 
the  road,  to  watch  the  stage  go  by,  clasping 
their  tiny  hands  beneath  their  chins,  like 
children  in  ecstasy  at  seeing  a  pretty  show. 
Frequently  one  would  be  seen  sitting  up  and 
nibbling  the  seeds  from  a  long  stem  of  grass, 
which  he  held  in  such  a  manner  that  he  ap 
peared  to  be  playing  a  flute.  A  big  marmot 
here  and  there  lay  along  a  bough  or  rock, 
turning  his  head  lazily  to  view  the  tourists 
through  his  Eden.  Boiling  springs  and  boil 
ing  rivers,  hill,  vale,  mountain,  and  waterfall 
—  all  these  had  Rosalie  enjoyed,  even  with 
the  fear  that  the  Bruces  would  turn  around; 
and  now!  Think  of  making  one  stage  of  the 
picturesque  journey  with  no  companion  but 
her  own  thoughts!  It  seemed  too  good  to  be 
true;  and  she  soon  found  that  indeed  it  was  so. 
The  driver  drew  his  horses  to  a  walk,  and 
Rosalie  perceived  that  many  of  the  other 
stages  were  in  sight,  some  of  them  stopping, 


Clever  Betsy 


and  that  tourists  were  entering  them  from  the 
roadside. 

Soon  it  became  the  turn  of  the  last  stage, 
and  Rosalie's  heart  bounded  to  recognize  all 
the  companions  of  the  morning. 

She  saw  Mrs.  Bruce  gaze  sharply  at  the 
stout  man  in  her  seat  by  the  driver. 

"Won't  your  mother  go  up  there,  Nixie?" 
asked  Irving. 

Mrs.  Nixon  refusing,  her  son  put  Miss 
Maynard  up,  the  young  woman  climbing  to 
the  place  with  alacrity. 

Rosalie  turned  her  head  to  gaze  fixedly  at 
the  other  side  of  the  road.  She  grew  warm  as 
she  felt  some  one  climb  into  the  seat  beside 
her,  but  did  not  turn  her  head  back,  even  when 
the  coach  started. 

Finding  herself  not  addressed,  presently 
she  turned  about  and  looked  squarely  into 
the  eyes  of  Betsy  Foster. 

"How  do  you  do,  Rosalie?"  said  the  latter 
composedly. 

"O  Betsy!"  exclaimed  the  girl  softly,  and 
seized  the  older  woman's  hand  with  an  appeal 
ing  grasp. 

Betsy  gave  her  one-sided  smile,  and  Rosalie's 
eyes  filled. 

92 


The  Blonde  Heaver 


"You  don't  seem  surprised!"  she  said 
unsteadily. 

"I  am,  though,"  returned  Betsy.  "I  sup 
posed  we'd  left  you  behind  at  Norris." 

"You  saw  me  there!  Did  the  —  did  Mrs. 
Bruce?" 

Betsy  shook  her  head.  "No;  and  she  has  n't 
yet;  but  I  was  thinkin'  about  you  as  we  came 
up  to  the  stage,  and  when  all  of  a  sudden  I 
saw  you,  I  thought  I'd  get  in  here." 

The  Nixon  party  were  directly  in  front  of 
them,  and  the  Bruces  in  the  next  seat,  and  all 
were  conversing  busily  among  themselves. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Betsy,  that  I  can 
hardly  bear  it;"  and  a  bright  tear  rolled  swiftly 
down  Rosalie's  cheek,  as  she  leaned  back  in 
her  corner  to  regain  her  self-control. 

"I've  thought  about  you  considerable," 
returned  Betsy,  "  and  I  have  n't  been  any  too 
easy." 

"I  told  Mrs.  Pogram,  I  promised  her,  that  if 
I  were  in  any  trouble  I  would  write.  How  kind 
of  you!"  with  a  sudden  burst  of  gratitude  and 
a  continued  clinging  to  Betsy's  slender  fingers. 
"How  kind  of  you  to  care!" 

"Of  course  I  cared,  child,"  returned  the 
other. 

93 


Clever  Betsy 


"And  you  saw  me  being  a  waitress!" 

"Yes.  First-rate  idea  for  college  boys," 
answered  Betsy  quietly.  "It's  quite  the 
fashion  for  a  lot  of  'em  to  help  themselves 
through  school  that  way.  I  don't  know  about 
it  exactly  for  girls  in  a  strange  land,  —  little 
country  girls  that  don't  know  anything  about 
the  world;  I  don't  know  whether  I  like  it  or 
not." 

"It's  a  good  way  to  see  the  world,"  said 
Rosalie,  without  enthusiasm. 

"Yes;  and  ain't  it  a  beautiful  one  out  here? 
Is  that  what  you  did  it  for,  Rosalie?" 

"Partly  —  not  exactly.  I  was  getting  away 
from  Loomis." 

Betsy  nodded.    "I  heard  he  pestered  you." 

Rosalie  looked  off  reminiscently.  "I  did  n't 
tell  Auntie  Pogram,  because  I  did  n't  want  to 
hurt  her  feelings ;  but  the  reason  Loomis  began 
being  so  unkind  to  me  was  because  I  would  n't 
marry  him." 

"I  suspected  as  much,"  said  Betsy. 

"So  long  as  he  was  Auntie  Pogram's  brother 
I  knew  there  was  no  hope  of  escaping  him  if 
I  stayed  there,  and  so  —  I  ran  away.  It  was 
selfish.  My  conscience  has  never  felt  easy; 
but  I  could  n't  endure  his  insults." 

94 


The  Blonde  Heaver 


"I  suppose  not,"  returned  Betsy.  Her  tone 
was  quiet,  but  there  were  sparks  in  her  usually 
inexpressive  eyes,  and  had  Loomis  Brown 
suddenly  appeared  it  might  have  gone  ill  with 
his  rapidly  thinning  hair. 

"What  did  you  do?  How  did  you  manage 
to  get  so  far  from  home?"  continued  Betsy. 

"I  first  went  to  a  boarding-house  that  I 
knew  of  in  Portland,  and  there  I  met  a  lady 
who  had  been  taken  ill  and  wanted  to  go  back 
to  her  home  in  Chicago;  but  she  had  a  little 
child  and  did  n't  feel  able  to  travel  with  him 
alone;  so  she  agreed  to  pay  my  fare  to  Chicago 
if  I  would  help  her  home.  I  did  n't  know  how 
I  would  ever  get  back,  but  it  was  getting  away 
from  Loomis,  so  I  went.  On  the  train  I  met 
a  woman  who  spoke  of  a  place  in  Chicago 
where  they  took  girls  to  wait  on  table  in  the 
Yellowstone;  so  as  soon  as  I  could,  I  applied, 
and  they  took  me  and  sent  me  out  here." 

"And  do  you  like  it?"  asked  Betsy,  eyeing 
the  mignonne  face  closely. 

"No,  of  course  I  don't  like  it,  exactly,  and 
I've  been  frightened  ever  since  I  saw  you  all 
at  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  for  I  was  sure 
Mrs.  Bruce  would  be  disgusted  with  me.  She 
expected  me  to  make  some  use  of  her  kindness." 

95 


Clever  Betsy 


"Don't  worry,"  returned  Betsy  dryly. 
"She's  short-sighted,  and  ten  to  one  she  won't 
see  you;  and  if  she  does,  she  probably  won't 
remember  you." 

"I  may  yet,  you  know,"  said  Rosalie 
eagerly,  "I  may  yet  reward  her  kindness;  but 
I  had  no  money,  so  I  could  n't  stop  to  see 
about  any  school  position;  and  besides,  Loomis 
lives  in  Portland." 

"Oh,  don't  bother  about  him,"  said  Betsy 
carelessly.  "One  donkey  more  or  less  that 
you  meet  in  the  street  is  n't  goin'  to  affect 
you.  He  '11  be  busy  wavin'  his  long  ears  at 
Mr»  Pogram's  new  help;  for  she'll  have  to  get 
somebody.  I  went  to  see  her  just  before  we 
left,  and  heard  the  whole  story." 

Rosalie  laughed  softly,  and  her  eyes  filled 
again.  "O  Betsy,  it's  so  long  since  I  laughed!" 
she  said;  and  her  tone  was  so  earnest  and  sad 
that  Betsy  averted  her  head  and  saw  the 
scenery  through  a  blur.  "I  was  in  the  stage 
all  this  morning.  It  's  a  wonder  you  did  n't 
feel  how  longingly  I  looked  at  the  back  of  your 
head." 

"You  were?"  asked  Betsy,  surprised.  "Are 
you  goin'  with  us  all  the  way?" 

"  I  don't  know.   I  may  be  left  anywhere.   I 

96 


The  Blonde  Heaver 


thought  I  had  left  you  this  time  and  hoped 
so,  Betsy,  because  I  was  afraid  of  Mrs.  Bruce; 
but  oh,  how  glad  I  am  now!  for  it  's  such  a 
comfort  to  see  you,  since  you  're  not  angry 
with  me." 

"Not  a  bit,"  replied  Miss  Foster,  going  to 
the  length  of  patting  the  hand  that  held  hers. 
"  I  would  be,  though,  if  you  'd  gone  off  and 
did  n't  write  me  or  let  me  know  where  you 
were;  but  you  did  n't  know  that  we  were 
home." 

"No.  That 's  why  I  was  so  startled  to  see 
you  at  the  Hot  Springs.  I  had  thought  I  was 
thousands  of  miles  from  any  one  who  knew  me." 

"  I  shan't  lose  track  of  you  again,"  declared 
Betsy  quietly. 

"O  Betsy,  do  you  care?"  The  girl  drew 
closer  to  her  neighbor's  angular  shoulder.  The 
expression  in  her  lovely  eyes  disconcerted 
Betsy  as  she  met  it.  "There  is  n't  any  one  else 
in  the  world  to  care.  I've  had  lots  of  time 
since  I  left  Chicago  to  think  how  alone  I  am, 
and  I've  been  as  disappointed  in  myself  as 
Mrs.  Bruce  could  be  because  I'm  not  brave 
about  it.  There  have  been  moments  at  night 
when  I  was  sorry,  Loomis  and  all,  that  I  ever 
left  Fairport." 

97 


Clever  Betsy 


Betsy  patted  the  hand  again.  "I  do  care, 
Rosalie.  I  won't  ask  you  to  promise  me, 
because  if  you  need  to  be  bound  by  a  promise 
you  don't  want  me  for  a  friend;  but  I  tell  you 
now  that  I  expect  you  to  keep  in  touch  with 
me.  I  wish  I  could  stay  by  you  or  keep  you 
near  me,  but  I  can't.  I  can,  though,  be  some 
help  to  you  perhaps,  one  way  or  another,  and 
I'll  be  glad  to  have  you  feel  that  way,  and 
never  get  into  a  tight  place  without  letting  me 
know." 

"I  do  promise,  Betsy,  so  gratefully,"  began 
Rosalie;  and  then  Mr.  Derwent  turned  around 
and  met  her  eyes  with  a  kind  smile  in  his. 
He  indicated  a  point  in  the  woods.  Rosalie 
looked  and  descried  the  spreading  antlers  of  a 
deer,  which  stood  bright-eyed  and  motionless 
in  the  shadow  and  watched  the  stage  go  by. 
Mr.  Derwent  had  been  the  first  to  discover  the 
animal,  but  soon  everybody  in  the  stage  was 
alert. 

"Oh,  the  deer!  Look  at  the  deer!"  sped 
from  mouth  to  mouth. 

"What  a  sermon  to  men-folks!"  exclaimed 
Betsy.  "The  way  the  critters  act  in  this  Park 
is  a  wonder,  just  because  men's  savage  in 
stincts  are  restrained." 

98 


The  Blonde  Heaver 


"Yes,"  said  Rosalie.  "I've  been  saying  to 
myself  over  and  over  Emerson's  poem,  — 

1  Who  hath  named  the  birds  without  a  gun?' ' 

Betsy  regarded  her  with  the  one-sided  smile. 

"Still  speak  poetry,  do  you,  even  though 
you  do  bring  folks  their  soup?" 

"Oh,  yes."  Rosalie  gave  her  head  a  sad 
little  shake.  "When  I  stop  thinking  and  feel 
ing  poetry,  I  shall  have  stopped  breathing." 

Everybody  was  commenting  on  the  curious 
action  of  the  beautiful  wild  creature  in  the 
forest,  Robert  declaring  that  he  had  buck 
fever. 

When  the  excitement  had  subsided,  he 
leaned  forward  to  Irving's  ear. 

"Your  faithful  retainer  has  found  her 
tongue,"  he  said.  "She  and  Uncle  Henry's 
Hebe  are  talking  thirteen  to  the  dozen." 

"Has  Mr.  Derwent  a  Hebe  on  board?" 

:£Yes.  A  genius  who  has  brought  him  good 
coffee  for  two  meals.  Watch  him  head  for  her 
table  this  noon;  and  she 's  unnecessarily 
pretty." 

Upon  this  Irving  turned  around  and  caught 
Betsy's  eye;  then  a  glimpse  of  the  blond  young 
girl  who  was  her  companion. 

99 


Clever  Betsy 


"Glad  she's  having  a  good  time,"  he  said, 
turning  back.  Then  to  Mrs.  Bruce,  "Betsy 
has  made  friends  with  a  pretty  waitress  back 
there." 

"Oh,  we  still  have  the  domestics,  the  heav 
ers,  with  us,  have  we?"  laughed  Mrs.  Bruce. 

"Is  that  what  they  call  them!"  exclaimed 
Robert  alertly,  but  continuing  to  speak  softly. 
"Did  n't  you  see  the  other  one  we  had  this 
morning?  The  spearmint  expert?  Alas,  she 
is  no  more;  but  if  this  one  had  stayed,  I  can 
tell  you  Uncle  Henry  would  have  stayed  too." 

"O  Robert!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Nixon,  anxious 
to  make  a  diversion,  "could  you  get  me  some 
of  that  very  peculiar  red  flower?" 

The  stage  was  climbing  a  gentle  incline  and 
Robert  swung  himself  out  and  gathered  the 
blossoms. 

"Want  some?"  asked  Irving  of  his  com 
panion. 

Mrs.  Bruce  certainly  did,  and  Irving  accord 
ingly  jumped  out,  also.  She  turned  to  Mrs. 
Nixon,  smiling. 

"We're  pretty  fortunate  women,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Nixon  sighed.  "Robert  is  such  a  scat- 
terbrain,"  she  returned. 

Mrs.  Bruce  continued  her  glance  around, 

100 


The  Blonde  Heaver 


curious  to  see  the  waitress  who  had  been  the 
subject  of  remark.  She  saw  a  fair  young  girl 
wearing  a  veil;  but  her  near-sighted  glance 
awakened  no  memory. 

"I'm  glad,"  she  thought,  "that  Betsy  has 
some  one  to  talk  to." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    FOUNTAIN    HOUSE 

IT  was  late  and  cold  when  the  party  reached 
the  Fountain  House,  and  the  big  open  fire 
burning  in  the  office  was  a  welcome  sight. 

Robert  Nixon's  prophecy  was  fulfilled,  and 
Mr.  Derwent  managed  to  be  waited  upon  by 
Rosalie  at  supper.  The  Bruce  party  happened 
to  sit  with  their  backs  to  that  table,  and  in 
deed  Betsy  did  not  expect  either  of  her  com 
panions  to  recognize  the  girl  in  this  place  and 
position  so  remote  from  the  spot  where  they 
had  known  her  but  slightly. 

Mrs.  Pogram  had  often  in  past  days  spoken 
to  Betsy  of  her  husband's  distant  relatives 
the  Vincents,  once  wealthy  and  highly  placed, 
then  reduced  to  financial  ruin,  illness,  and 
death,  leaving  this  pretty  blossom  alone  on 
the  family  tree.  The  good  lady  had  often 
mentioned,  as  being  to  Rosalie's  credit,  that 
she  was  without  false  pride  or  foolish  revert 
ing  to  the  past  of  her  luxurious  childhood;  and 
the  situation  had  appealed  to  whatever  was 

102 


The  Fountain  House 


romantic  in  Betsy  Foster's  breast.  There  had 
always  been  for  her  some  atmosphere  about 
Rosalie  Vincent  as  of  the  exiled  Princess  in 
servitude,  and  the  sweetness  with  which  the 
girl  undertook  Mrs.  Pogram's  drudgery  had 
oftentimes  excited  an  admiration  in  Betsy 
which  she  never  put  into  words. 

She  fought  now  with  a  sense  of  pathos  that 
Rosalie  should  be  hurrying  back  and  forth 
under  the  orders  of  hungry  travelers. 

Irving  commented  at  supper  upon  Betsy's 
sociability  with  the  pretty  waitress  in  the 
stage,  and  some  instinct  bade  the  good  woman 
guard  her  secret. 

"She  is  a  very  intelligent  girl,"  Betsy  re 
plied.  "It  seems  it's  quite  a  common  thing 
for  nice  poor  girls  to  see  the  Park  in  this  way." 

"A  very  good  idea,  too,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Bruce.  "Just  as  the  college  boys  wait  on 
table  in  the  White  Mountain  resorts." 

Betsy  breathed  more  freely.  If  Mrs.  Bruce 
were  going  to  approve  this  move  of  Rosalie's, 
it  would  be  a  relief.  Fully  able  to  fight  her 
own  battles,  she  shrank  sensitively  from  hear 
ing  this  girl  discussed  and  criticised. 

"That 's  what  I  say,  too,"  she  returned. 
"I  think  it  shows  good  courage  in  a  girl  to 

103 


Clever  Betsy 


strike  out  and  see  something  of  the  world. 
It  shows  character  and  enterprise." 

Irving  looked  at  his  old  friend  curiously. 
It  was  unlike  her  to  express  so  much.  It  was 
some  embarrassment  to  Betsy  to  take  her 
meals  with  her  employers,  as  the  herding 
together  of  crowds  for  food  on  this  trip  made 
necessary;  and  this  was  the  first  time  she  had 
opened  her  lips  voluntarily  at  table.  ^ 

In  the  mean  time  Rosalie  was  again  winning 
laurels  from  the  Nixons,  and  Helen  Maynard 
looked  up  at  her  as  she  gave  her  orders. 

When  the  party  left  the  table,  Helen  lagged 
behind. 

"Miss  Vincent,  Rosalie,"  she  said  low  to  the 
waitress,  "don't  you  remember  me  at  Lam 
beth?" 

Rosalie  colored. 

"Yes;  but  please  don't  remember  me!"  she 
returned. 

Helen  eyed  her  sharply. 

"I  mean  it,"  said  Rosalie.  "You're  very 
kind,  but  I  '11  tell  you  some  time." 

She  turned  away,  and  Robert  Nixon  ad 
vanced  toward  them.  * 

"Pardon  me,  Miss  Maynard,  I  thought  you 
were  ahead  of  me."  Then  when  they  had 

104 


The  Fountain  House 


moved  toward  the  door,  he  laughed.  "Have 
you  caught  the  infection?  Mother  is  gravely 
considering  getting  the  girl's  address  and 
having  her  come  to  Boston." 

"  She  blushed  like  the  traditional  rose  when  I 
spoke  to  her,"  returned  Helen,  and  said  no  more. 

The  recognition  of  her  school-friend  put 
Rosalie  in  a  new  flutter;  and  yet  such  was  the 
joy  of  sitting  on  the  back  seat  of  the  stage  with 
Betsy  that  she  had  not  the  heart  to  hope  for 
orders  to  stay  at  the  Fountain  House. 

For  the  hundredth  time  she  calculated  what 
money  Mrs.  Bruce  had  expended  on  her  course 
in  English,  and  for  the  hundredth  time  felt 
herself  wither  under  the  scorn  of  that  lady's 
eyes  should  she  recognize  her  and  discover 
that,  after  all,  she  had  not  been  able  to  rise 
above  the  level  where  she  was  found. 

"If  I  could  only  pay  her!  If  I  could  only 
pay  her!"  sang  through  the  girl's  head  like 
an  ever-recurring  refrain. 

The  sudden  announcement  that  the  Foun 
tain  Geyser  was  about  to  play  caused  a  stam 
pede  among  the  guests  of  the  hotel,  and  every 
body  who  had  wraps  to  withstand  the  cold 
of  the  July  evening  hastened  out  to  be  in  time 
for  the  show. 

105 


Clever  Betsy 


Mrs.  Bruce  was  greatly  excited.  "It's  a 
shame,  a  perfect  shame  that  the  Company 
don't  warn  people  to  bring  flannels  and  furs," 
she  said.  "Even  my  sweater  feels  like  muslin." 

"You're  going  to  wear  my  overcoat,  Mada- 
ma,"  said  Irving,  beginning  to  put  it  about  her. 

"No  indeed,  Mr.  Irving,"  burst  forth  Betsy, 
and  was  rewarded  by  a  flash  behind  Mrs. 
Bruce's  eyeglasses. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  should  allow  him, 
Betsy?  What  are  you  Chinking  of!" 

As  she  spoke  sharply,  the  offended  woman 
drew  away  from  her  son,  and  Betsy  hastened 
to  mollify  her. 

"I'm  going  to  wrap  you  up  in  my  things, 
Mrs.  Bruce,"  she  said. 

The  lady  made  a  faint  protest. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  you  let  me,  because  you 
could  n't  drag  me  away  from  this  fire  anyway. 
I  'd  rather  see  flames  spout  than  water  to 
night." 

Irving  frowned.  "You  did  n't  come  across 
the  continent  for  that,  Betsy,"  he  began. 

She  gave  him  her  one-sided  smile.  "  I  came 
across  the  continent  because  I  had  to,"  she 
returned,  meanwhile  making  her  slender  mis 
tress  shapeless  under  a  large  golf-cape.  "I've 

1 06 


The  Fountain  House 


been   readin'  the  guide-book;   and   I  Ve  got 
lots  o'  geysers  comin'  to  me  yet." 

"I  do  think,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce,  when  she 
and  Irving  were  out  of  doors  and  hastening 
on  their  way  to  the  widespread  crust  of  the 
formation,  "I  do  think  Betsy  might  be  more 
appreciative  of  her  advantages.  Almost  any 
one  else  would  value  more  the  privilege  of  a 
visit  to  the  Yellowstone." 

"Yes,"  returned  Irving  dryly,  "and  the 
more  the  other  one  appreciated  it,  the  less 
she  'd  lend  you  her  golf-cape." 

Mrs.  Bruce  looked  at  him.  "You  always 
take  Betsy's  part!"  she  exclaimed. 

"I'm  only  showing  you  that  you  chose  your 
companion  wisely,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 
"There,  Madama,  it's  beginning.  Can  you 
sprint?" 

Mrs.  Bruce  could  sprint  with  any  girl  that 
lived,  and  they  were  soon  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  shivering,  eager  crowd,  and  Mrs.  Bruce 
was  making  little  ineffectual  hops  in  the  en 
deavor  to  see  over  and  between  the  heads  of 
those  in  front  of  her.  But  instantly  the  foun 
tain  shot  into  the  air  and  played  in  the  mys 
terious  twilight  under  a  cold  pale  moon,  and 
a  hush  fell  upon  all. 

107 


Clever  Betsy 


Betsy  had  the  open  fire  practically  to  her 
self;  and  she  sat  before  it,  ruminating  deeply. 
It  seemed  strange  to  think  of  Rosalie  so  near 
and  yet  so  far.  How  she  longed  to  get  out  into 
that  forbidden  department  and  lend  the  aid 
of  her  capable  hands  to  whatever  work  the 
young  girl  was  doing.  She  wondered  what  a 
day  would  bring  forth.  Possibly  she  should 
not  see  Rosalie  again;  and  if  the  girl  were  sent 
on  with  them  to-morrow  to  the  Old  Faithful 
Inn,  she  knew  that  the  Bruces'  plan  was  to 
remain  there  for  a  few  days,  and  there  she 
would  doubtless  lose  her  definitely. 

"Mrs.  Bruce  used  to  call  her  her  protegee!" 
she  thought.  A  long  determined  breath  came 
from  Betsy's  breast.  "She's  goin'  to  be  Betsy 
Foster's  protegee  now,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  lose 
sight  of  her." 

She  continued  to  look  thoughtfully  into  the 
leaping  flames,  and  even  her  practical  common 
sense  was  not  proof  against  their  age-long 
ability  to  show  the  gazer  alluring  possibilities. 

A  certain  rough  seaman  mending  his  sail 
in  far-off  Yankee  land  little  realized  that, 
could  his  canvas  be  turned  into  a  magic 
carpet,  this  was  his  psychological  moment. 

"I  suppose,"  Betsy  was  reflecting,  "'t ain't 
108 


The  Fountain  House 


Mrs.  Pogram's  fault  that  she  has  n't  as  much 
backbone  as  a  jelly-fish." 

A  broad,  strong  flame  flew  squarely  up 
toward  the  chimney.  "I  suppose  if — if  I 
ever  was  —  soft  enough  —  to  —  Well,  Hiram's 
a  good  soul.  He'd  be  kind  as  any  father  to 
Rosalie." 

Betsy  suddenly  realized  that  the  fire  was 
making  her  face  hot,  and  she  put  up  her  hand 
to  shield  it. 

Meanwhile  Hiram  Salter  was  placidly  sit 
ting  cross-legged  over  his  prostrate  sail.  A 
piece  of  twine  held  in  his  lips  fell  down  each 
side  of  his  chin,  giving  him  some  resemblance 
to  a  gigantic  catfish. 

A  few  days  later  he  received  a  picture- 
postal  from  the  Fountain  House  Hotel  in  the 
Yellowstone.  It  was  dated  on  the  evening  when 
Betsy  sat  so  long  before  the  fire;  and  it  read, — 

DEARH.: 

Cold  as  Xmas  here. 

B.  F. 

And  the  good  man  never  suspected  that  in 
reality  it  had  never  been  as  little  cold  for  him 

109 


Clever  Betsy 


in  all  his  years  of  courtship  as  on  the  evening 
when  that  postal  card  was  bought;  and  that 
in  place  of  the  curt  message  might  truly  have 
run  a  bit  from  Rosalie  Vincent's  repertoire :  — 

Never  the  time  and  the  place, 
And  the  loved  one,  all  together. 

The  next  morning  dawned  bright.  If  Rosa 
lie  was  in  the  breakfast-room,  Betsy  did  not 
see  her. 

When  later  she  entered  the  back  seat  of 
the  last  stage,  Betsy  looked  about  anxiously. 
Irving  came  to  the  step. 

"Mrs.  Bruce  and  Nixie  are  up  there  with 
the  driver.  I  'm  coming  in  with  you,"  he 
said. 

"Just  wait  one  minute,  Mr.  Irving,"  re 
turned  Betsy.  "  If  —  if  that  young  —  waitress 
is  going  along  with  us,  she'd  feel  —  sort  of 
embarrassed  if — " 

"Well  —  well,"  —  Irving  looked  up  into 
the  narrow  face  and  laughed,  —  "this  is  the 
first  time  you  ever  turned  me  down." 

He  looked  about.  Mrs.  Nixon,  Miss  May- 
nard,  and  Mr.  Derwent  were  in  the  middle 
seat  as  before.  The  stout  gentleman  and 
another  man  were  in  the  seat  in  front  of  them. 

no 


The  Fountain  House 


"And  you'd  put  me  in  there  with  four  hun 
dred  pounds  of  tourist?"  went  on  Irving. 
"Nay,  nay,  Betsy.  I'll  get  over  there  in  the 
corner  beyond  you  and  promise  to  keep  my 
place." 

"Oh,  they  're  going  to  start,"  said  Betsy 
in  trepidation,  "and  —  and  she  isn't  here. 
Could  n't  you  get  him  to  wait,  Mr.  Irving? 
I- 

Irving  swung  into  the  stage  as  the  horses 
moved. 

"My  dear  Betsy,  we've  ceased  to  be  in 
dividuals.  We're  part  of  a  system,"  he  said  as 
he  seated  himself  beside  her.  "When  the  Park 
authorities  say  this  stage  moves,  it  moves." 

Betsy  leaned  back,  her  lip  caught  under  her 
teeth  and  her  expression  so  abstracted  that 
Irving  stared  at  her  curiously. 

"I  do  believe,"  he  said  incredulously,  "that 
Betsy  Foster,  clever  Betsy,  has  fallen  in  love." 

"How  you  talk!"  returned  his  companion, 
recovering  herself;  and  being  quite  conscious 
of  Rosalie  and  a  little  conscious  of  her  fire-lit 
fancies,  an  astonishing  color  rose  under  her 
sallow  skin. 

Irving  laughed.  "After  all  these  years, 
our  sedate  Betsy — " 

in 


Clever  Betsy 


"How  you  act,  Mr.  Irving!" 

The  speaker  tried  not  to  smile,  but  continued 
to  look  so  guilty  and  red-faced  that  living's 
laughter  grew. 

"After  all  these  years;  the  heart  that  I 
thought  was  mine  —  given  to  a  heaver!" 

"I'd  like  to  have  said  good-by  to  her," 
said  Betsy.  "She's  —  she  ain't  the  —  the 
independent  kind  —  and  I  — " 

Irving  looked  at  her  kindly.  "How  does 
that  big  heart  of  yours  find  room  in  that 
slender  body?"  he  asked.  "Cats  and  dogs 
and  horses  and  humans  —  it's  all  one  to  you. 
You've  taken  a  brief  to  defend  them  all." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Irving!"  —  Betsy  looked  off  at  the 
landscape,  — "if  I  could  defend  them  all!" 

"Why  that  tragic  look?" 

"Your  words  made  me  think  again,  as  I 
so  often  do,  that  in  a  world  full  of  so  much 
beauty  as  this,  people  are  cuttin'  up  live 
animals  in  the  name  of  science,  and  the  law 
permits  it." 

Irving  shook  his  head.  He  had  heard  before 
Betsy's  horror-stricken  views  of  vivisection. 

"Human  life  is  the  most  precious  of  all," 
he  reminded  her,  now. 

"Yes,  but  don't  just  as  fine  physicians  as 

112 


The  Fountain  House 


any  say  that  the  unnatural  conditions  in  vivi 
section  prevent  any  good  coming  from  it? 
Yes,  they  do;  and  supposing  it  did  do  any 
good!  Don't  most  civilized  people  believe  in 
an  after-life?  If  they're  going  to  live  to  eternity 
anyway,  and  have  got  to  pass  through  death 
some  time,  how  can  they  be  willing  to  have 
their  lives  in  this  world  prolonged  a  few  years 
at  the  cost  of  torturing  innocent  animals? 
That's  what  I  say.  How  can  they  —  and  then 
expect  any  heaven  awaits  them?" 

"I  haven't  thought  much  about  it,"  said 
Irving. 

"Well,  think  now,  then!"  returned  Betsy. 
"I  know  7'd  rather  die  any  time  than  have  a 
live  dog  cut  up  on  the  chance  of  helping  to 
keep  me  here  a  little  longer;  and  I  should  n't 
dare  show  myself  before  the  Maker  of  the 
dog  if  I  would  n't!  And  everybody  who  does 
n't  vote  against  it,  and  work  against  it,  de 
serves  to  see  their  own  pets  on  the  rack.  I 
guess  that  would  bring  it  home  to  them!" 

Betsy  winked  hard  as  she  finished,  and 
Irving  patted  her  slight  shoulder. 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  that  you're 
right,  Betsy,  but  for  a  few  days  we  can't  do 
anything  about  it;  and  now  let's  talk  about 


Clever  Betsy 


something  that  makes  you  happy — heavers, 
for  instance." 

Betsy's  usually  inexpressive  eyes  had  a 
wistfulness  in  them  as  she  turned  toward  the 
strong  face  she  loved.  "I  can't  bear  to  have 
her  any  place  where  she  could  be  called  a 
heaver!"  she  responded. 

"That  young  woman  must  be  a  wonder,", 
said  Irving.  "She's  the  first,  I'll  wager,  to 
make  a  conquest  of  Betsy  Foster  in  one  day!" 

"Your  mother's  about  the  only  one  that 
ever  did  that,  Mr.  Irving." 

Betsy's  eyes  fell  upon  a  chipmunk  by  the 
roadside,  sitting  up  and  clasping  its  hands 
under  its  chin  in  the  customary  admiration 
of  the  stage. 

"See  that  little  critter?"  she  continued. 
"This  girl  is  just  as  innocent  as  that  chipmunk, 
and  knows  just  as  much  o'  the  ways  o'  the 
world.  It  goes  by  her;  and  though  her  heart 
sort  o'  comes  up  in  her  throat,  she  cheers  up 
under  the  least  kindness  and  is  willin'  to 
admire  everything  and  everybody." 

"Well,  well!  What  an  impression  in  one 
day  on  my  unimpressionable  Betsy!"  Irving 
smiled,  genuinely  surprised  -by  this  unprece 
dented  interest. 

114 


The  Fountain  House 


"That  girl  was  the  child  o'  luxury,"  went 
on  his  companion,  —  "lost  everything,  parents 
included,  and  came  to  be  practically  a  servant 
in  the  home  of  a  poor  relation.  Got  so  perse 
cuted  by  the  attentions  of  a  skinflint  man  who 
wanted  her  to  be  his  drudge  that  she  ran 
away,  and  somehow  drifted  into  waitin'  on 
hungry  folks  in  the  Yellowstone!" 

Irving  smiled.  "She  told  a  story  well, 
anyway.  She  has  missed  her  vocation.  Some 
one  ought  to  tell  her  the  pen  is  mightier  than 
the  knife  and  fork." 

"It  's  easy  to  tell  the  truth,"  returned 
Betsy,  nettled  by  his  tone. 

Irving  laughed.  "For  Clever  Betsy,  I  do 
believe;  but  for  most  people  always  difficult, 
and  usually  unsafe." 

"H'm,"  returned  his  companion,  "this  girl 
was  tellin'  the  truth  and  I  know  it." 

Here  the  stage  stopped  and  the  passengers 
dismounted  to  see  a  pool  of  great  beauty 
which  was  out  of  sight  from  the  road;  and 
when  they  returned,  Betsy's  abstraction  had 
vanished;  and  although  she  evidently  enjoyed 
Irving's  companionship  on  the  long  drive, 
not  another  word  on  the  subject  of  her  com 
panion  of  yesterday  could  be  elicited  from  her. 


Clever  Betsy 


Once  Mr.  Derwent  turned  around  and  met 
her  eyes. 

"Where  is  your  young  friend?"  he  asked. 

Betsy^shook  her  head.  "  She  did  n't  come," 
she  answered. 

They  had  reached  a  point  where  the  road 
forked;  and  Betsy's  glance  was  arrested  by  a 
sign  placed  at  the  point  of  divergence.  It 
read :  — 

"All  loose  and  pack  animals  take  this  road." 

Her  lips  twitched  as  she  turned  toward 
Irving. 

"Do  you  s'pose,"  she  asked,  "that  all  the 
loose  and  pack  animals  can  read  that?" 


CHAPTER  X 

ON   THE    RIVERSIDE 

POOLS  of  heavenly  tints;  living  emerald,  and 
beryl;  boiling  springs,  the  scalding  water 
bubbling  with  intense  force;  Nature's  wonders 
ever  varied,  entertained  the  party  on  their 
way  to  the  Old  Faithful  Inn,  —  the  luxurious 
log-cabin  of  the  Yellowstone. 

Arrived  there,  each  one  took  a  long  breath 
as  if  it  were  a  Mecca  reached.  The  examina 
tion  of  the  curious  and  fascinating  structure, 
with  the  woodsy  green  furnishings  of  the  log 
bedrooms,  which  carried  out  the  sylvan  idea 
in  all  possible  particulars,  entertained  the 
tourists  until  they  were  admitted  to  the  dining- 
room. 

Betsy  looked  with  rather  sad  eyes  upon  the 
waitresses,  and  suddenly  her  heart  gave  a 
little  jump,  for  unless  those  eyes  deceived 
her,  Rosalie  Vincent  was  tripping  busily  about 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Derwent  did  not  espy  her  evidently, 
for  he  led  his  party  to  another  table,  and  the 
Bruces  stopped  halfway  down  the  room.  Not 

117 


Clever  Betsy 


a  word  said  Betsy,  but  her  slow  color  rose. 
The  crowd  was  great  at  this  favorite  place. 
Rosalie  had  evidently  been  sent  on  by  the 
earliest  stage,  and  Betsy  shrewdly  suspected 
that  she  would  be  kept  here.  She  began  plan 
ning  at  once  an  evening's  visit  with  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Bruce  was  delighted  with  the  novelty 
of  the  Inn  and  so  far  had  not  suggested  any 
improvements. 

"We  must  drive  right  after  dinner  to  some 
of  these  wonderful  places,"  she  said.  "Isn't 
it  restful  to  think  we  have  n't  to  rush  about 
and  freeze  to  see  Old  Faithful,  because  it's  so 
regular!  It's  a  pity,  though,  that  it  does  n't 
play  exactly  every  hour.  There's  five  minutes 
or  ten  minutes  over  that  you  always  have  to 
remember." 

Irving  shook  his  head.  "These  careless 
authorities,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Bruce  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I'm 
sure  that  was  a  very  innocent  remark,"  she 
retorted. 

"Innocent  to  simplicity,  Madama;  but  re 
member  what  you  lose  in  convenience  by  the 
present  schedule,  you  gain  in  mathematical 


exercise." 


"  I  did  n't  come  out  here  for  mathematical 
118 


On  the  Riverside 


exercise,"  began  Mrs.  Bruce;  and  went  on 
to  comment  on  some  of  the  beauties  of  the 
morning  drive;  but  Irving  lost  the  thread  of 
her  remarks,  for  he  happened  to  catch  sight 
of  Rosalie  Vincent,  and  looked  again  more 
closely. 

Not  to  interrupt  Mrs.  Bruce's  eulogies,  he 
touched  Betsy's  hand  and  motioned  with  his 
head  toward  the  blonde  waitress. 

"Is  n't  that  the  loved  and  lost?"  he  asked 
softly. 

Betsy  looked  nonchalantly  in  the  direc 
tion  he  indicated.  "Why,  so  'tis,"  she  said 
quietly. 

Mrs.  Bruce  turned  her  eyeglasses  upon 
them.  "Of  course  if  you  and  Betsy  want  to 
talk,  don't  mind  interrupting  me." 

"Thanks,  Madama.  I've  been  drying  Bet 
sy's  tears  all  the  morning  shed  for  the  loss 
of  her  blonde  heaver;  and  I  just  discovered 
her,  that's  all.  You'll  excuse  me,  won't  you?" 

Mrs.  Bruce  peered  near-sightedly  down  the 
hall,  but  saw  nothing  nearly  so  interesting  as 
her  soup,  so  returned  to  it. 

Betsy  waited  for  Irving's  next  words,  ex 
pecting  they  might  be  of  recognition;  but  he 
went  on  eating,  as  he  added :  — 

119 


Clever  Betsy 


"You'd  better  make  it  a  point  to  see  her, 
this  trip,  and  tell  her  to  try  her  hand  at  a 
pathetic  tale  for  the  Maiden's  Home  Com 
panion!" 

Betsy  gave  a  one-sided  smile  of  relief.  "Mrs. 
Bruce,  you  indulged  this  young  man  too  much 
a  spell  back.  He'd  ought  to  been  disciplined 
'fore  't  was  too  late." 

"That  from  you!"  returned  Mrs.  Bruce 
complacently.  "You  never  wanted  me  even 
to  contradict  him." 

After  dinner  the  men  of  the  party  put  the 
four  women  into  a  wagon,  whose  driver  was 
warranted  to  let  Mrs.  Bruce  lose  nothing 
which  could  be  seen  and  heard  in  one  after 
noon,  and  started  off  for  a  tramp. 

Their  first  pause  was  at  the  exquisite  liquid 
flower  known  as  the  Morning  Glory  Pool.  The 
wondrous  color  and  shape  of  this  spring  held 
them  long.  Some  one,  either  with  a  wish  to 
test  its  depth,  or  desiring  to  furnish  the  blue 
morning  glory  with  a  pistil,  had  dropped  a 
stick  into  its  centre. 

Irving  smiled  at  his  own  thoughts.  "The 
driver  is  lucky  if  Madama  does  n't  make  him 
get  out  and  fish  for  that  stick,"  he  thought. 

After  their  ramble  of  an  hour  the  friends 
1 20 


On  the  Riverside 


halted  near  the  Riverside  Geyser,  where  the 
gathering  crowd  indicated  that  it  would  soon 
spout. 

In  moving  about  for  desirable  points  of 
vantage,  Mr.  Derwent  and  Robert  Nixon 
became  separated  from  Irving,  who  from  his 
greater  height  was  satisfied  with  his  position 
behind  a  knot  of  persons  on  the  river  bank. 
Among  them  was  a  young  girl  with  her  back 
to  him.  She  was  bareheaded  and  wore  a  white 
gown.  Irving  looked  twice  idly  at  her  because 
her  hair  was  pretty,  and  then  noticed  that  a 
couple  of  soldiers,  off  duty,  spoke  to  her  and 
that  she  tried  to  repel  them. 

"Come  now,  Goldilocks,"  said  one  of  them 
ingratiatingly,  in  his  hoarse  voice,  "wasn't 
I  introduced  to  you  all  right  at  Norris  ?  Don't 
be  stuck  up." 

He  came  closer,  with  open  admiration.  The 
girl  made  some  soft  reply,  then  turned,  and 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  look,  half  of  annoy 
ance  and  half  of  fear,  in  her  childlike  face. 

Irving  stepped  forward  instinctively,  and 
recognized  Betsy's  friend.  He  had  noticed 
in  the  dining-room  that  the  girl  bore  a  resem 
blance  to  some  one  he  had  seen,  but  he  had 
not  been  able  to  locate  it. 

121 


Clever  Betsy 


"O  Mr.  Bruce!"  she  ejaculated  involun 
tarily,  coming  nearer  as  if  for  protection. 

The  soldiers  saw  him  lift  his  hat,  and  fell 
back. 

"Rosalie  —  Miss  Vincent  —  is  it  you?" 
said  Irving,  all  Betsy's  interest  and  concern 
explained  in  a  flash. 

She  shrank  away.  "I  —  I  didn't  mean  to 
speak  to  you,"  she  said  naively;  and  she  cast 
down  her  eyes  with  an  expression  which  sent 
a  thrill  of  compassion  across  the  man's  heart 
strings.  He  remembered  Mrs.  Pogram's  lach 
rymose  tale,  and  Betsy's  romance  of  the 
morning.  "I  was  afraid  Mrs.  Bruce  would  be 
offended  to  find  me  here,  after  all  she  has  done 
for  me,"  went  on  Rosalie,  her  heart  beating 
fast;  "but  —  but  I  could  n't  help  it." 

The  artless  words  and  the  graceful,  culprit 
attitude  were  appealing. 

"I  saw  you  in  the  dining-room,  but  did  n't 
remember  you  at  first,"  answered  Irving.  "I 
dare  say  you  would  n't  have  chosen  this  work, 
but  I  hope  you  are  getting  some  pleasure  out 
of  it." 

Rosalie  shook  her  head.  "It  is  very  beauti 
ful,  and  —  and  it  would  n't  be  lonely  if  there 
were  n't  any  —  any  people  about;  but  I  don't 

122 


On  the  Riverside 


know  how  to  get  on  very  well  with  —  with 
the  others." 

Irving  glanced  over  toward  the  young 
soldiers  who  were  alive  to  Rosalie's  tete-k-tete. 
He  could  imagine  that  this  golden  head,  on 
which  the  mountain  sun  was  glinting,  would 
be  a  shining  mark  for  local  admiration.  Bet 
sy's  disturbed  feeling  was  becoming  better 
understood  with  every  moment. 

"I  had  an  hour  to  myself  and  I  wanted  so 
much  to  see  this  geyser  play.  I  did  n't  wait  for 
my  hat  or  anything.  I  just  ran."  Rosalie  put 
her  hand  to  her  bare  head,  apologetically. 

"I've  great  curiosity  to  see  this  one,  too," 
replied  Irving.  "Why  don't  we  sit  down  till 
the  show  begins?"  He  indicated  a  spot  on  the 
greensward  where  a  tree  cast  its  shadow,  for 
the  afternoon  sun  was  ardent. 

"Please  don't  think  you  must  stay  with 
me,"  responded  the  girl,  with  a  timid,  grateful 
smile  which  made  her  prettier  than  ever. 
"I'm  not  really  at  all  afraid  of  those  soldiers. 
Perhaps  I  did  meet  them  with  a  waitress  at 
Norris  who  knows  them  all;  and  they  don't 
mean  any  harm." 

"I  dare  say  not;  but  sit  down,  Miss  Rosalie. 
It's  as  good  a  place  to  wait  as  any." 

123 


Clever  Betsy 


So  she  obeyed,  quite  frightened  and  happy. 
Frightened  because  she  did  not  know  what  mo 
ment  her  powerful  benefactress  might  appear 
on  the  scene,  and  happy  because — because 
—  well,  she  had  during  two  whole  seasons 
admired  Irving  Bruce  from  afar  and  looked 
very  wistfully  at  the  girls  who  shared  his  sum 
mer  fun;  and  now  he  was  disposing  his  large 
person  near  her  on  the  grass  as  if  it  were  the 
most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"You  and  Betsy  Foster  had  a  long  seance 
yesterday  in  the  stage,  did  n't  you  ? "  he  said, 
leaning  on  his  elbow  and  looking  up  into  the 
blue  eyes  that  he  could  see  were  not  quite  at 
ease. 

"Yes,  indeed.  Oh,  what  it  was  to  get  hold 
of  Betsy's  hand  and  sit  beside  her  all  the 
morning!" 

"Why  did  n't  she  tell  Mrs.  Bruce  and  me 
that  one  of  our  old  neighbors  was  in  our 
party?" 

"She  knew,"  Rosalie  flushed,  "that  I 
dreaded  to  have  Mrs.  Bruce  know  it." 

"Why?  I  can't  imagine  why." 

"Because  Mrs.  Bruce  helped  me  so  much, 
and  meant  me  to  do  something  so  different. 
She  gave  me  a  course  in  English  in  the  fine 

124 


On  the  Riverside 


school  at  Lambeth,  and  she  had  a  right  to 
expect  I  would  be  teaching,  and  doing  her 
kindness  credit." 

"Time  enough  for  that  in  the  fall,  I  should 
think." 

"But  I  haven't  any  position.  I  had  no 
way  to  —  to  live  until  —  I  could  get  one." 
The  speaker  averted  her  face,  not  so  quickly 
but  that  Irving  saw  the  blue  eyes  were  swim 
ming. 

Had  Rosalie  been  the  most  artful  of  girls 
she  could  not  have  planned  words  and  actions 
more  effective  to  win  the  championship  of 
Mrs.  Bruce's  son,  knowing  as  he  did  the  his 
tory  of  her  flight. 

"I  met  Mrs.  Pogram  a  few  weeks  ago  in 
Fairport,"  he  replied.  "She  told  me  of  her 
loss  of  you." 

Rosalie  did  not  speak.  She  furtively  wiped 
her  eyes. 

"Does  Mrs.  Pogram  know  where  you  are?" 

"No.  It  seems  unkind,  for  I  know  she  is 
fond  of  me;  but  I  promised  her  that  if  I  were 
in  any  trouble  I  would  write  her;  and  if  she 
knew  where  I  was,  her  brother  would  know, 
and  I  —  I  can't  endure  him!"  The  girl  fin 
ished  with  a  flash  of  energy. 

125 


Clever  Betsy 


"You  show  faultless  taste/'  returned  Irving. 
"Don't  be  afraid  of  Mrs.  Bruce.  She  won't 
expect  you  to  be  teaching  English  in  the 
Yellowstone." 

"They  have  an  English  of  their  own,"  re 
turned  Rosalie.  "Probably  if  you  knew  what 
I  am,  you  would  n't  be  talking  to  me  as  if  I 
were  a  summer  girl." 

Her  faint  smile  suddenly  shone  upon  him, 
for  she  felt  he  meant  to  placate  Mrs.  Bruce. 

Irving  laughed.  "I  do  know  something  of 
the  Park  lingo.  You're  taking  another  course 
in  English,  that's  all." 

"Yes,  I  am." 

Rosalie  suddenly  thought  of  Miss  Hickey 
and  wondered  what  that  young  person  would 
say  if  clairvoyance  could  show  her  this  picture 
on  the  river  bank. 

"What  are  your  plans,  if  it's  a  fair  ques 
tion?"  Irving  asked. 

"I  haven't  any,  Mr.  Bruce."  Again  the 
anxious  look  in  the  blue  eyes.  "Of  course,  I 
finish  the  season  in  the  Park.  If  I  don't,  I 
forfeit  my  expenses  being  paid  to  return." 

"Did  they  bring  you  'way  from  Portland?" 

"No,  from  Chicago." 

"Ah!"  Irving  raised  his  eyebrows,  but 
126 


On  the  Riverside 


asked  no  question.  "You  must  n't  let  us  lose 
sight  of  you,"  he  added. 

"That's  very  kind.  What  I  have  felt  was 
that  I  must  n't  let  you  catch  sight  of  me," 
returned  the  girl  naively.  "I  was  n't  afraid  of 
you,  Mr.  Bruce,  for  I  didn't  think  you'd 
remember  me  at  all;  and  —  I  do  so  appreciate 
your  kindness." 

Irving  looked  at  her  with  considering  eyes. 
Her  half-timid,  half-respectful  manner  was 
novel,  and  the  little  burst  of  gratitude  with 
which  she  finished  was  most  agreeable.  He 
recalled  that  Betsy  had  said  that  this  girl, 
apparently  so  alone  in  the  world,  had  been 
born  and  reared  in  luxury.  With  the  eye  of 
a  connoisseur  he  regarded  her  now,  and  pic 
tured  what  a  triumphant  march  her  girlhood 
would  have  been  had  she  remained  in  the  class 
of  Fortune's  favorites. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Derwent  and  Robert  Nixon, 
threading  their  way  among  the  waiting  knots 
of  sightseers,  approached  the  spot  where  the 
above  conversation  was  taking  place. 

Mr.  Derwent  was  first  to  perceive  the  pair. 

"See  there,  Robert,"  he  said,  with  his  crisp, 
short  manner  of  speech.  "I  think  we've  seen 
only  one  head  that  matches  the  Yellowstone?" 

127 


Clever  Betsy 


His  nephew  followed  the  direction  of  the 
other's  fixed  gaze. 

"Well,  I'll  —  be— "  he  began,  "if  there 
is  n't  Brute,  fussing  our  heaver." 

Mr.  Derwent  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  the 
arm  of  his  companion,  who  made  an  instant 
move  in  his  friend's  direction. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Robert,  close  to 
his  uncle's  ear.  "It's  up  to  us  to  rescue  her. 
She  is  n't  his  heaver." 

"  She  does  n't  look  as  if  she  wished  to  be 
rescued,"  remarked  Mr.  Derwent;  and  the 
concern  in  his  face  moved  his  irreverent 
nephew  to  merriment. 

"You  see  Hebe  is  n't  a  goddess,  after  all," 
he  remarked  into  the  rubber  device  which 
hung  about  his  uncle's  neck.  "Just  a  nice, 
every-day  heaver;  and  her  hair's  caught  Brute. 
Let's  go  and  see." 

Mr.  Derwent's  face  was  impassive  as  he 
followed.  The  childlike  eyes  and  the  modest 
demeanor  of  the  pretty  waitress  had  greatly  at 
tracted  him.  He  was  sorry  to  find  her  like  this. 

Bruce  sprang  to  his  feet  as  they  approached. 
He  read  mischief  in  Robert's  eyes,  and  his  own 
were  unresponsive. 

Robert  nodded  and  grinned  cheerfully  at 
128 


On  the  Riverside 


Rosalie  before  Irving  could  get  possession  of 
what  Robert  termed  his  uncle's  rubber  ear. 
Then  he  said  with  a  distinctness  intended  to 
awe  and  repress  Nixie,  "I  have  found  an  old 
friend,  Mr.  Derwent.  A  young  lady  whose 
home  is  where  we  go  in  summer.  Let  me  pre 
sent  you  to  Miss  Vincent." 

Robert  reconstructed  his  countenance  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  Mr.  Derwent's  face 
cleared  as  he  raised  his  hat.  "Mr.  Nixon, 
Miss  Vincent,"  went  on  Irving  severely. 

"I  have  waited  on  these  gentlemen,"  said 
the  girl,  looking  at  Mr.  Derwent. 

"You  deserted  our  stage  this  morning," 
he  answered,  and  deliberately  dropped  upon 
the  grass  beside  Rosalie,  while  she  explained, 
blushing,  how  she  had  been  hurried  'on  early 
because  of  the  crowds. 

"Pooh!"  said  Robert  aside  to  Irving.  "Old 
friend  of  yours?"  He  snapped  his  fingers. 
"Piffle!  Likewise  gammon.  She's  fed  us  for 
two  days." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  responded  Irving 
stiffly.  "Otherwise  I  could  n't  quite  under 
stand  your  greeting  of  her  as  you  came  up." 

Robert  laughed  unrestrainedly.  "Just  got 
off  with  my  skin,  eh?" 

129 


Clever  Betsy 


"She's  all  alone  out  here,"  said  Irving, 
flushing  under  the  sincerity  of  his  friend's 
merriment,  but  continuing  to  scowl. 

"She  is,  eh?"  returned  Nixie.  "Then  all 
I  have  to  say  is  she  must  be  the  author  of  that 
spooky  declaration,  '  I  'm  never  less  alone  than 
when  alone.'  See  there,"  motioning  with  his 
head  toward  an  advancing  group  of  women, 
"there  come  the  rest  of  us.  We  can't  lose  'em." 


CHAPTER  XI 

FACE   TO    FACE 

THE  ladies  had  left  their  wagon,  to  move 
about  and  break  the  long  drive  by  the  view  of 
the  Riverside  Geyser  in  action.  As  they  ap 
proached  their  friends,  Mrs.  Nixon  put  up  her 
lorgnette. 

"Is  n't  that  my  brother  sitting  there  on  the 
grass?"  she  asked. 

"Certainly  it  is,  and  there  are  the  boys," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Bruce  with  satisfaction,  hasten 
ing  her  steps. 

Behind  them  followed  Betsy  Foster  and 
Miss  Maynard. 

"To  whom  is  Henry  talking?"  asked  Mrs. 
Nixon.  "Why, — why,  Mrs.  Bruce!  I  never 
knew  him  to  do  anything  so  strange!  It's  that 
waitress  —  that  waitress  that  came  on  with 
us  in  the  stage." 

"I  did  n't  notice  her,"  returned  Mrs.  Bruce. 
"I  was  always  sitting  in  front." 

"She  has  waited  on  us  at  the  hotels,"  said 
Mrs.  Nixon,  and  her  tone  grew  colder.  "Men 
are  so  thoughtless.  I  liked  the  girl  so  much. 


"Clever  Betsy 


I  was  seriously  thinking  of  making  an  arrange 
ment  with  her  for  the  fall  — " 

Here,  as  they  had  come  within  speaking  dis 
tance,  Mrs.  Nixon's  lips  closed.  Mr.  Der- 
went's  necessarily  devoted  attitude  as  he  now 
tried  to  catch  something  Rosalie  was  saying 
settled  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Nixon,  and  lost 
the  girl  her  chance  of  an  assured  winter  home. 

Mrs.  Bruce  stared  curiously  at  the  bare 
golden  head;  and  Miss  Maynard  and  Betsy, 
following,  descried  Mr.  Derwent  and  the 
waitress  at  the  same  moment. 

"Rosalie!"  said  Helen  Maynard,  under  her 
breath. 

"Do  you  know  her?"  asked  Betsy,  in  sur 
prise. 

"Yes.  We  were  at  school  together." 

Betsy's  footsteps  quickened,  for  she  felt 
vaguely  that  Rosalie  might  indeed  need  pro 
tection  now. 

Mrs.  Bruce  began  speaking  with  her  usual 
energy. 

"I'm  so  glad  we're  in  time,  Irving.  I  told 
that  driver  if  he  did  n't  get  us  back  at  the  right 
moment  to  see  this  geyser  play,  he'd  never  be 
forgiven.  We've  been  to  the  oddest  place 
called  Biscuit  Basin;  a  great  pool  just  covered 

132 


Face  to  Face 


with  nicely  browned  biscuit.  It  made  one 
hungry  to  look  at  them.  But  the  hot  water 
we  splashed  through  to  get  there!  I  shall  be 
boiled  yet  in  this  place." 

The  moment  Rosalie  caught  sight  of  Mrs. 
Bruce,  she  sprang  to  her  feet  with  supple 
swiftness.  Mr.  Derwent  deliberately  arose 
and  met  his  sister's  disapproving  eyes  imper- 
turbably.  He  put  on  the  hat  which  for  coolness 
he  had  been  holding  on  his  knee. 

Rosalie  flushed  and  paled  and  met  Betsy's 
eyes  so  entreatingly  that  the  latter  stepped 
forward  by  her  employer's  side. 

At  that  moment  Mrs.  Bruce  for  the  first 
time  gave  her  attention  to  the  young  girl. 

"Why!"  she  said,  and  hesitated. 

Irving  knew  that  she  was  trying  to  place 
the  memory  of  an  individual  who  had  once 
interested  her. 

"It  is  Miss  Rosalie  Vincent,  Madama,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  She  surprised  me  a  few  minutes 
ago." 

"It  is  Rosalie,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce;  and  ap 
proaching,  she  shook  hands  with  the  girl  she 
had  befriended.  In  the  same  moment  her 
alert  mind  recalled  all  that  Mrs.  Nixon  had 
just  said. 

133 


Clever  Betsy 


A  waitress.  The  waitress  who  had  traveled 
in  their  stage.  The  waitress  with  whom  Betsy 
had  talked  yesterday. 

Her  manner  cooled.  The  pupils  of  her  eyes 
narrowed. 

"I  am  surprised  to  see  you  here,"  she  said. 

"I  knew  you  would  be,"  was  all  the  girl 
could  answer,  and  her  face  burned. 

Betsy  spoke.  "You  wondered  where  her 
wings  would  carry  her,  Mrs.  Bruce,  and  now 
you  see.  Good  strong  wings,  you'll  agree,  to 
go  'way  across  the  continent." 

Rosalie  lifted  her  eyes  to  her  friend. 

Mr.  Derwent  could  not  hear  what  was  being 
said,  but  he  gathered  from  the  attitude  of  his 
sister  and  Mrs.  Bruce  and  the  painful  crimson 
of  Rosalie's  face,  that  some  arraignment  was 
taking  place. 

"  I  suppose  even  the  best  of  women  are  cats 
at  heart,"  he  reflected;  then  he  spoke  aloud. 
"Miss  Vincent  and  I  have  been  making  dis 
coveries.  Her  father  was  a  connection  of  our 
family,  and  on  the  Glee  Club  with  me  at  col- 
lege."  ' 

"Henry!"  Mrs.  Nixon  seized  the  rubber 
disk  that  hung  at  his  vest  and  spoke  across 
it  firmly.  "I  have  just  heard  a  man  say  that 

134 


Face  to  Face 


the  geyser  is  beginning  to  play.    Let  us  go 
closer  to  the  bank." 

She  took  her  brother's  arm  and  led  him 
away.  Mrs.  Bruce  did  the  same  with  Irving, 
who  exchanged  one  glance  with  Betsy  over 
her  head  as  he  yielded. 

Robert  followed  with  Miss  Maynard,  and 
Betsy  put  her  arm  around  Rosalie. 

"Now  then,  that's  over,"  she  said. 

The  girl's  eyes  were  still  dilated  and  she 
did  not  speak. 

Betsy  gave  her  a  gentle  shake.  "Brace  up, 
Rosalie.  Don't  be  such  a  trembling  little  bird. 
Your  soul's  your  own.  —  Oh,  my!  Is  n't  that 
wonderful!"  For  the  geyser  now  burst  forth 
with  a  rushing  volume  of  water  which  rose  and 
arched  across  the  river  at  a  height  of  eighty  feet. 

Betsy  and  Rosalie  hastened  down  the  bank 
beyond  the  crowd,  where  they  had  a  full  view 
of  the  aerial  waterfall  sparkling  in  the  sun 
shine  as  it  plunged  foaming  into  the  river. 

When  the  exhilarating  show  was  over, 
Betsy  turned  to  her  companion. 

"There!  Ain't  that  worth  a  good  bit  o' 
sacrifice  to  see?" 

The  girl's  hands  were  clasped  on  her  breast, 
and  her  eyes  shining. 

135 


Clever  Betsy 


"You  look  as  admirin'  as  a  chipmunk," 
said  Betsy;  and  they  both  laughed. 

"Oh,  supposing  we  were  alone  out  here, 
Betsy!  Would  n't  it  be  beautiful!"  sighed  the 
girl. 

"'T  would,  as  sure  as  you're  born;  but  we 
ain't  bondholders,  so  we  have  to  work  our 
way,  both  of  us;  and  it's  worth  it.  That's 
what  I  say,  and  that's  what  I  want  you  to 
feel." 

"I  would  n't  mind  if  no  one  else  minded," 
said  Rosalie  meekly. 

"Don't  mind,  anyway,"  returned  Betsy 
stoutly.  "That's  what  I  was  just  savin'. 
Your  soul's  your  own  — " 

"But  she  spent  so  much  money  on  me." 

"How  much?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  if  I  could  pay  it  back, 
and  need  n't  care  how  her  eyes  look  — " 

"Very  likely  you  will  pay  her  some  day. 
Meanwhile  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip.  Don't  act 
as  if  you'd  done  anything  wrong,  'cause  you 
have  n't." 

"I'm  not  clever,"  mourned  Rosalie.  "Look 
at  Helen  Maynard.  See  what  she  has  done. 
She  was  a  poor  girl,  too.  She  was  older  than 
I,  and  we  seldom  met  at  school;  but  she  studied 

136 


Face  to  Face 


practical  things.  I  was  so  happy,  and  my  teach 
ers  so  delightful,  but  what  did  it  fit  me  for?" 

"Nothin',  and  I  knew  it,"  responded  Betsy 
bluntly. 

"It  made  life  brighter  and  fuller,"  said 
Rosalie,  and  her  eyes  looked  away  to  where 
Betsy  knew  she  could  not  follow.  Her  old 
idea  of  the  princess  in  exile  returned  upon  her 
with  force  as  she  gazed  at  the  girl,  for  Rosalie 
drew  herself  up  unconsciously;  leafy  shadows 
lay  in  her  pensive  eyes  and  brocaded  her  white 
gown,  while  an  arrow  of  sunlight  gilded  the 
braided  coronet  of  her  hair. 

"Although  I  went  back  to  washing  Mrs. 
Pogram's  dishes,  I  did  n't  live  in  that  kitchen," 
she  went  on  softly.  "There  were  great  fields 
—  green  fields  and  pastures  new,  where  my 
thoughts  went  roving." 

They  both  kept  silence  for  a  space;  then 
Rosalie  came  back  from  her  short  day-dream 
and  met  her  friend's  eyes.  "I  don't  think  I 
have  a  bad  disposition?"  she  said  question- 
ingly. 

"I've  never  seen  any  signs  of  it,"  returned 
Betsy  dryly. 

"There  are  moments  when  I  wish  I  had 
borne  with  Loomis.  One  of  them  was  when 

137 


Clever  Betsy 


Mr.  Derwent  said  he  had  known  my  father; 
and  Mrs.  Nixon  looked  at  me  from  such  a 
lofty  height!"  The  girl's  cheeks  burned  again. 

Betsy  heaved  a  quiet  sigh.  "There's  only 
one  thing  the  matter  with  you,  Rosalie."  As 
she  spoke,  Betsy  ran  her  fingers  down  the 
girl's  backbone,  and  the  latter  squirmed  away. 
"It's  your  spine." 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  asked  Rosalie, 
startled. 

"I  don't  know;  but  't  ain't  stiff  enough." 
Betsy  smiled  faintly  into  her  companion's 
puzzled  face.  "  Seems  sort  o'  tough  to  be  born 
a  vine,  and  then  not  be  given  a  thing  to  cling 
to."  She  shook  her  head.  "You  was  born  a 
vine,  Rosalie,  and  now  that  the  supports  have 
been  pulled  out,  you  can  either  trail  along 
the  ground  where  every  passer-by  is  likely 
to  step  on  you,  or  you  can  reach  around  till 
you  find  a  new  support  for  yourself." 

She  paused,  and  Rosalie  looked  troubled  and 
thoughtful. 

"Vines  ain't  left  altogether  helpless,"  went 
on  Betsy.  "They're  given  lots  o'  tendrils,  and 
they  lay  hold  o'  the  queerest  and  most  unpro 
mising  things  sometimes  and  begin  to  pull 
themselves  up." 

138 


Face  to  Face 


"  But  who  wants  to  be  a  parasite ! "  exclaimed 
Rosalie.  "They  destroy!" 

"A  wholesome  vine  only  benefits,"  answered 
the  other;  "and  it  mustn't  be  content  with 
shrinkin'  along  the  ground  and  invitin'  every 
body  to  step  on  it,  and  hurt  it.  Even  a  vine 
has  its  own  sort  of  backbone,  its  own  power, 
and  it  has  n't  a  thing  to  fear.  It'll  find  its 
place  to  climb  if  it  looks  up  and  not  down." 

"There's  one  trellis  I  wish  I  could  have," 
said  Rosalie  wistfully,  gazing  at  her  friend, 
"and  its  name  is  Betsy  Foster." 

"Come  now,  Rosalie;  that's  pretty  hard." 
The  older  woman's  lips  twitched.  "I've  got 
some  flesh  on  my  bones." 

"O  Betsy!  Dear  Betsy!"  burst  forth  the 
girl  lovingly.  "Clever  Betsy,  as  Captain 
Salter  calls  you." 

"You  know  Hiram,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  indeed;  and  when  I  first  came  to 
Fairport,  —  it  was  the  winter  before  Mrs. 
Bruce  sent  me  to  school,  —  he  told  me  about 
you,  and  told  me  you'd  be  there  in  summer 
with  this  rich  family,  and  that  if  I  could  get 
you  for  a  friend  it  would  be  the  best  thing  that 
could  happen  to  me;  and  it  has  been,  Betsy  — 
except  that  it  did  give  me  that  bitter-sweet 

139 


Clever  Betsy 


school  experience."  The  girl  put  her  arm 
around  her  companion.  "Captain  Salter  told 
me  so  much  about  you  —  how  you  had  always 
managed  to  do  for  people  in  the  village.  He 
thinks  you're  a  wonder." 

Miss  Foster  started  to  speak,  but  changed 
her  mind  and  merely  grunted.  Then,  after  a 
silent  moment  of  endurance  of  the  girl's  em 
brace,  she  changed  the  subject. 

"Unwind  that  tendril  now,"  she  said,  taking 
Rosalie's  hand  and  moving  her  away;  "and 
be  careful,  child,  who  you  do  reach  out  to," 
she  added  seriously. 

"Oh,  are  you  going,  Betsy?"  exclaimed  the 
girl,  troubled. 

The  woman  hesitated.  "You  let  me  go 
tell  Mrs.  Bruce  that  I'll  walk  back  to  the 
hotel  so  they  won't  wait  for  me.  They're 
probably  all  in  the  wagon  by  this  time,  and 
wonderin'  where  I  am." 

"I'll  wait  right  here,"  returned  Rosalie 
eagerly,  and  she  stood  watching  Betsy's  re 
treating  figure  with  wistful  eyes. 

Miss  Foster  presented  herself  in  the  group 
who  were  waiting  for  the  carriage,  and  an 
nounced  to  Mrs.  Bruce  her  wish  to  walk  back 
to  the  hotel. 

140 


BETSY  !    DEAR  BETSY  ! 


Face  to  Face 


"With  that  girl,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Bruce,  scorn  in  her  voice.  "Do  as  you  please, 
Betsy.  I've  certainly  had  one  more  lesson 
in  letting  well  enough  alone.  It  is  likely  she 
never  would  have  grumbled  with  her  bread 
and  butter  and  left  Mrs.  Pogram,  if  I  had  not 
been  the  means  of  putting  ideas  into  her  head. 
I'm  obliged  to  admit  that  you  were  right, 
Betsy,  when  you  talked  to  me  about  it  a  few 
weeks  ago."  Mrs.  Bruce  gave  a  little  sigh. 
"I  wish  I  weren't  so  warm-hearted  and  im 
pulsive.  Does  n't  it  lead  one  into  lots  of 
trouble,  Mrs.  Nixon?" 

Mrs.  Nixon  was  of  the  opinion  that  it  did; 
and  she  still  held  by  the  arm  a  victim  of  mis 
guided  emotion.  Irving  and  Robert  had  dis 
appeared. 

"Come  home  in  the  carriage  with  us, 
Henry,"  she  said  to  her  captive.  "There  will 
be  a  vacant  place  now." 

There  was  still  wandering  upon  the  river 
bank  among  the  overhanging  trees  a  golden- 
haired  dryad,  whose  presence  caused  the  lady 
to  desire  the  sanctuary  of  the  park  wagon  for 
her  brother  until  she  could  have  a  few  words 
with  him  in  private. 

This  she  accomplished  after  they  reached 
141 


Clever  Betsy 


the  hotel  and  she  had  lured  him  out  upon  the 
large  upper  veranda,  where  reclining  chairs  in 
vited  wanderers  to  repose  in  the  sunshine. 

Mr.  Derwent  recognized  the  symptoms  of 
extreme  solicitude  for  his  comfort,  and  smiles 
which  were  like  flashes  of  heat-lightning.  His 
sister  was  a  woman  of  much  poise,  and  heat- 
lightning  seldom  portends  showers;  still  they 
had  been  known  to  arrive  before  the  atmos 
phere  could  clear,  and  he  had  the  ordinary 
masculine  dread  of  them. 

After  accepting  the  chair  beside  his  sister 
which  she  offered  to  him,  he  leaned  back  with 
every  evidence  of  comfort,  and  his  first  words 
adroitly  changed  her  aggression  to  defense. 

"You  take  trifles  far  too  seriously,  Marion," 
he  observed. 

She  stared,  and  he  smilingly  offered  her  the 
rubber  disk. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 
;    "Oh,  yes,  you  do." 

Mrs.  Nixon  compressed  her  lips. 

"You  misunderstand  entirely,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  I  took  a  very  great  fancy  to  that  young 
girl." 

"It  does  you  credit,  Marion." 

"And  you've  spoiled  everything,"  she  re- 
142 


Face  to  Face 


torted.  "I  was  going  to  arrange  to  have  her 
come  to  us  in  Boston." 

"In  what  capacity?" 

"Waitress,  of  course.  And  now  you  Ve  made 
it  impossible." 

"It  always  would  have  been  impossible.  I 
could  n't  think  of  allowing  Gorham  Vincent's 
daughter  to  wait  on  our  table.  I  highly  ap 
prove  of  having  her  come  to  us,  however,  — 
the  charming  creature." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?" 

"Why,  it  seems  she  has  no  one  belonging  to 
her." 

"Henry!"  said  Mrs.  Nixon  sonorously, 
"the  home  circle  is  sacred." 

She  was  greatly  startled;  and  she  looked  at 
the  insouciant  face  and  figure  of  her  brother 
with  repressed  exasperation. 

"It  is  a  small  circle  in  our  case,  certainly." 

"Now  that  Robert  is  at  home,  we  shall  be 
three,"  returned  the  lady. 

It  was  her  house,  and  her  home  circle;  and 
even  though  her  wealthy  bachelor  brother  was 
its  most  valuable  asset,  she  did  not  intend  to 
cede  her  rights. 

There  was  a  space  of  silence;  then  she  spoke 
accusingly  again. 

143 


Clever  Betsy 


"I  have  been  thinking  the  last  week,  Henry, 
that  perhaps  in  bringing  your  stenographer 
on  this  trip,  and  making  her  of  use  to  me  also, 
you  have  had  it  in  mind  to  suggest,  on  our 
return,  that  she  remain  with  us." 

Mr.  Derwent's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  land 
scape.  He  did  not  respond  at  once,  and  Mrs. 
Nixon,  looking  at  him  sharply,  was  in  doubt 
whether  to  interpret  his  silence  as  a  guilty  one. 

"Marion,"  he  said  at  last,  "do  you  often 
think  of  Alan?" 

"Why — "  Mrs.  Nixon  paused  in  her  sur 
prise  at  this  irrelevancy,  —  "why,  yes,  I  do." 
It  was  with  an  effort  that  her  thought  un 
clasped  itself  from  the  present,  to  revert  to 
the  unfortunate  one  of  the  family:  the  brother 
whose  every  effort  to  succeed  in  life  had  seemed 
to  be  thwarted;  whose  children  had  died,  and 
whose  own  life  had  suddenly  and  unexpectedly 
closed  before  he  had  arrived  at  middle  age. 

Mr.  Derwent's  lips  compressed  under  his 
white  mustache,  and  his  nostrils  dilated. 

Mrs.  Nixon  observed  the  change  in  his  face 
with  some  dismay.  She  could  not  remember 
when  she  had  last  heard  him  refer  to  their  sor 
row.  For  the  first  time  she  realized  that  this 
was  perhaps  because  it  had  gone  too  deep. 

144 


Face  to  Face 


He  still  kept  his  gaze  ahead  as  he  continued, 
in  detached  sentences:  "I  never  sympathized 
enough  with  Alan.  I  let  him  fight  alone  too 
long.  I  criticised  when  I  should  have  carried 
him.  There  is  no  torture  like  that  unavailing 
regret.  Yesterday  is  dead,  and  repining  is 
weakness.  The  only  atonement  I  can  make  is 
to  look  on  each  individual  need  that  presents 
itself  before  me,  and  ask  myself  what  I  would 
do  now  if  that  need  was  Alan's." 

Mrs.  Nixon  was  silent;  her  folded  hands 
tightened.  She  was  beholding  an  unsuspected 
wound,  hidden  always  beneath  her  brother's 
imperturbable  exterior;  and  the  apparition 
held  her  tongue-tied. 

They  both  kept  silence  while  the  shadow 
crept  along  the  veranda  rail.  At  last  Mr.  Der- 
went  spoke  again  in  his  ordinary  manner,  and 
with  deliberation. 

"I  have  had  some  such  thought  as  you  sus 
pect  concerning  Helen  Maynard." 

"Is  the  girl  friendless?  Where  has  she  been 
living?"  returned  Mrs.  Nixon  defensively, 
conscious  that  when  this  subdued  moment  had 
passed,  she  should  find  a  hundred  embarrass 
ments  in  the  prospect  of  housing  her  brother's 
stenographer. 


Clever  Betsy 


"She  has  been  living  in  a  boarding-house. 
She  has  grandparents  on  a  farm  in  the  coun- 
try." 

Mrs.  Nixon  maintained  an  ominous  silence. 
Her  brother  changed  his  position,  and  an  odd 
look  of  amusement  grew  in  his  averted  eyes. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  tell  you  what 
has  been  a  secret  up  to  now,  Marion." 

This  quiet  sentence  sent  a  stream  of  color 
over  his  companion's  face;  evidence  of  a  shock 
that  sent  a  wild  throng  of  thoughts  careering 
through  her  brain. 

Horrors!  What  was  coming  now?  Her 
brother,  whose  fortune,  as  everybody  knew, 
was  to  go  to  Robert;  her  brother,  whose  afflic 
tion  made  him  averse  to  society  1  Could  such 
a  thing  be  as  that  this  very  narrowing  of  his 
social  life  had  thrown  him  back  on  the  society 
and  sympathy  of  the  neat,  well-groomed  girl, 
who  was  his  right  hand  at  the  office. 

Why,  of  course!  and  Mrs.  Nixon  called  her 
self  imbecile  for  never  having  feared  it.  She 
reproached  herself  wildly  for  not  having  pro 
vided  better  for  his  recreation.  More  card- 
parties,  more  reading  aloud;  more  sympathy 
in  the  travel-lectures  he  enjoyed.  Oh,  fool 
that  she  had  been !  Probably  he  had  escorted 

146 


Face  to  Face 


Miss  Maynard  to  those  very  lectures,  and  she 
had  elucidated  the  pictures. 

It  took  but  a  moment  of  time  for  all  these 
considerations  to  tear  across  Mrs.  Nixon's 
mind,  and  he  added:  — 

"I  think  it  is  time  now  to  speak  of  it." 

With  haunting  visions  of  card-games  never 
played,  she  responded  unsteadily:  — 

"Pray  do." 

Mr.  Derwent  pressed  his  finger-tips  lightly 
together. 

"Before  I  engaged  Helen,"  he  began,  "she 
had  engaged  me." 

Mrs.  Nixon  leaned  back  in  her  chair  under 
pressure  of  faintness. 

"Her  grandparents  came  to  me  as  a  well- 
known  lawyer  and  engaged  me  to  undertake 
her  cause  in  a  lawsuit  regarding  a  large  for 
tune.  I  have  been  working  on  it  for  a  long 
time,  and  success  is  in  sight.  The  girl  was 
being  sensibly  educated,  and  so  at  last  it  came 
about  that  I  took  her  into  the  office  for  the 
convenience  of  us  both." 

Mrs.  Nixon's  face  was  a  study;  but  her 
mind  was  not  yet  relieved. 

"Miss  Maynard  is  an  heiress?"  she  asked. 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it  now.  The  red  tape 


Clever  Betsy 


has  been  all  measured  off,  and  only  a  few  mat 
ters  of  form  are  left  before  she  comes  into  her 


own.'3 


Mrs.  Nixon  sat  in  silence  for  a  time. 

"You  know  her  so  much  better  than  I  do, 
Henry,"  she  said  at  last,  tentatively. 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Derwent  gave  a  quiet  exclama 
tion.  "  She  is  an  excellent  piece  of  mechanism. 
Her  mind  is  as  well  ordered  as  her  toilet.  Not 
a  hair  out  of  place." 

The  speaker's  manner  and  tone  reassured 
his  sister  so  far  that  she  could  give  her  thought 
to  consideration  of  the  girl  in  this  new  light, 
and  to  wondering  what  impression  her  own 
treatment  had  made  upon  her.  Miss  May- 
nard's  opinion  would  now  be  of  importance. 
Mrs.  Nixon  was  grateful  that  noblesse  oblige, 
and  that  she  could  never  be  less  than  courteous 
to  an  inferior;  a  great  convenience  when  one 
considers  that  an  inferior  sometimes  surprises 
with  as  sudden  a  rise  into  prominence  as  is 
accomplished  by  a  jack-in-the-box. 

"And  your  idea,  Henry  — "  she  asked  again. 

"Was  simply,"  he  answered,  "that  in  her 
changed  circumstances  Helen  will  require  the 
guidance  of  some  older  woman.  There  will  be 
no  'back  to  the  farm'  for  her,  and  I"  suspect 

148 


Face  to  Face 


that  the  old  people  will  not  wish  to  change 
their  manner  of  living." 

"Will  she  have  very  much?" 

Mr.  Derwent  nodded.  "Enough  to  make 
me  glad  her  head  is  so  level." 

"She  must  be  exceedingly  attached  and 
very  grateful  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Nixon,  after 
a  thoughtful  pause,  during  which  she  tried  to 
remember  just  how  repressive  her  manner 
had  been  to  her  quiet  companion. 

"She  does  n't  need  to' be  grateful.  She  pays 
me.  Helen  is  not  impulsive." 

"You  mean  she  has  a  cold  nature,"  returned 
Mrs.  Nixon.  "I  do  think,  Henry,  you  might 
have  told  me  all  this  when  we  started  out  on 
this  trip." 

He  shook  his  head.  "It  is  because  of  a  for 
warded  telegram  which  I  received  here  this 
noon  that  I  tell  you  now." 

Mrs.  Nixon  thought  again. 

"And  you  would  like  her  to  live  with  us," 
she  said  thoughtfully. 

"  I  only  suggest  it.  I  thought  if  you  liked  her 
—  but  Helen  may  have  other  views." 

"I  see,"  returned  Mrs.  Nixon  slowly,  "I 
see."  And  she  rocked  in  her  chair  with  reflec 
tions  wherein  her  lost  waitress  was  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    FAITHFUL    GEYSER 

WHILE  this  conversation  was  going  on,  Mrs. 
Bruce  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  below,  wait 
ing  for  Irving.  He  had  promised  to  meet  her 
in  time  for  the  next  performance  of  the  Old 
Faithful  Geyser. 

While  she  sat  there  she  observed  Betsy  and 
Rosalie  returning  to  the  hotel,  and  her  eyes 
narrowed  as  she  regarded  the  girl's  tall  slender 
figure  and  free  carriage. 

"It  is  no  wonder  I  was  attracted,"  she. 
thought;  and  now  that  the  case  had  come 
before  her  again,  and  she  had  time  to  consider 
that  her  beneficiary  had  inflicted  upon  her  a 
disappointment,  Rosalie's  proved  incapacity 
took  on  the  proportions  of  ingratitude.  With 
Mrs.  Bruce,  even  to  suspect  that  her  will  was 
being  thwarted  was  misery,  and  her  gaze 
rested  coldly  on  the  girl  now.  At  the  same 
moment  Irving  and  Robert  came  in  sight;  and 
Mrs.  Bruce  resented  the  fact  that  they  has 
tened  to  approach  Betsy,  as  she  paused  to  say 
good-by  to  her  companion. 

150 


The  Faithful  Geyser 


The  four  stood  a  moment  talking,  and  as 
Rosalie  withdrew  from  the  group  Mrs.  Bruce 
watched  Irving  follow  her  a  few  steps  and  then 
lift  his  hat  as  the  girl  shook  her  head  and  hur 
ried  away. 

Robert,  whistling  loudly,  ran  up  the  steps 
of  the  hotel,  and  Mrs.  Bruce  scarcely  nodded 
in  response  to  his  cheerful  greeting  as  he  went 
into  the  house. 

She  rose  from-  her  chair.  "See  the  people 
going  out  there,"  she  said  to  Irving,  as  he  and 
Betsy  approached.  "I  thought  you  would 
never  come!" 

"  Five  minutes'  grace,  Madama,"  said  Irving, 
looking  at  his  watch.  "Don't  get  nervous." 
Betsy  started  to  go  into  the  house.  Irving 
caught  her  by  the  arm.  "Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he 
added.  "You're  going  with  us." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Irving.  I  meant  to  go 
out  later,"  returned  Betsy,  always  conscious 
of  "acquiring  merit"  by  leaving  these  two 
by  themselves. 

"I  would  n't  trust  you  —  I  would  n't  trust 
you  around  the  corner,"  returned  Irving;  and 
he  kept  his  hold  on  the  sleeve  of  Betsy's  brown 
silk  shirt-waist,  so  the  three  moved  together 
out  to  the  point  of  interest. 


Clever  Betsy 


The  Old  Faithful  has  been  talked  about, 
written  about,  and  visited  so  much  and  so 
long,  that  there  remains  nothing  fresh  to  be 
said;  but  it  is  like  any  other  classic,  —  per 
ennial,  exhilarating,  and  satisfying. 

Mrs.  Bruce,  despite  the  fly  in  her  amber, 
approached  the  mound  of  geyserite  with 
lively  anticipation,  and  watched  with  absorp 
tion  the  first  spasmodic  spurts  that  were  flung 
from  the  crater's  mouth. 

Later,  when  the  splendid  volume  of  hot 
water  sprang  skyward,  she  and  Betsy  both 
forgot  that  there  was  a  bone  of  contention 
between  them.  For  minutes  the  rushing  giant 
fountain,  falling  in  a  cloud  of  foam  and  spray, 
held  itself  against  the  azure  sky;  then,  like 
a  beautiful  captive  returning  to  its  dungeon, 
fell  back  lower  and  lower,  till  only  its  tears 
coursed  down  the  terraces  they  had  formed, 
and  lay  in  shallow  basins,  whose  lovely  tints 
they  did  not  conceal. 

Mrs.  Bruce,  feeling  that  she  could  suggest 
nothing  that  would  improve  this  glorious 
ebullition,  confined  herself  to  exclamations. 

"What  a  blessing  there  is  a  moon!"  she  said, 
as  they  turned  back  toward  the  hotel.  "I  can 
hardly  wait  for  to-night.  Where  do  you  sup- 

152 


The  Faithful  Geyser 


pose  the  Nixons  are?  and  that  poor  little  Miss 
Maynard?  If  Mr.  Derwent  is  making  her 
write  his  letters  instead  of  coming  out  here,  I 
think  it's  a  perfect  shame." 

"Sh!  sh!  Madama,"  said  Irving.  "Let 
everybody  be  innocent  until  he  's  proved 
guilty.  Go  into  the  house  now  and  lie  down, 
and  let  the  world  go  wrong  for  a  little  while." 

"I  can't  quite  make  Miss  Maynard  out, 
Irving.  I  tried  to  talk  with  her  a  number  of 
times  on  our  drive  this  afternoon,  because  I 
must  say  Mrs.  Nixon  is  so  very  quiet  I  feel 
sorry  for  the  girl;  but  she  always  was  ab 
stracted,  and  every  time  I  spoke  to  her  she 
seemed  to  have  to  bring  her  thoughts  back 
from  somewhere." 

"From  him,  perhaps,"  suggested  Irving. 

"Well,  perhaps  so.  I  never  thought  of  that." 
Mrs.  Bruce  shook  her  head.  "Deliver  me  from 
sightseeing  with  a  girl  who  is  in  love!" 

Irving  smiled.  "I  know  I'm  never  coming 
to  a  place  like  this  unless  she  is  here,  too." 

"Oh,  Irving,  don't!  That  awful  time  will 
have  to  come,  I  suppose,  but  don't  ruin  this 
lucid  interval  by  talking  about  it." 

The  young  man  seldom  indulged  in  any 
covert  interchange  with  Betsy,  but  now  his 


Clever  Betsy 


eyes  sparkled  with  fun  as  he  caught  his  old 
friend's  eye. 

"Such  a  mother-in-law  as  you  will  make, 
Madama!"  he  exclaimed  devoutly. 

"That  depends,"  returned  Mrs.  Bruce  com 
placently.  "If  you  let  me  pass  upon  the  girl 
before  you  commit  yourself,  I  shall  do  my 
best." 

"What  pretty  hair  you  must  have  had  when 
you  were  twenty,"  said  Irving  irrelevantly, 
after  a  pause,  regarding  the  fair  head  at  his 
shoulder,  for  Mrs.  Bruce  was  carrying  her  hat 
in  her  hand. 

"I  don't  care  for  that  left-handed  compli 
ment  at  all,"  she  replied  with  spirit.  "It's 
pretty  now." 

"It  is,  for  a  fact;  but  was  n't  it  still  lighter, 
more  golden,  when  you  were  twenty?" 

"Yes,  it  was  perfectly  lovely,"  she  returned. 
"The  years  play  us  all  sorts  of  mean  tricks, 
but  one  of  the  meanest  is  darkening  one's  hair. 
It  was  lovely  at  the  time  I  was  married;  but 
at  that  time  I  suppose  you  did  n't  care  whether 
I  wore  hair  or  corn-silk!" 

"Corn-silk,"  repeated  Irving  abstractedly. 
"That's  what  it's  like.  Corn-silk." 

"It  isn't,  you  flatterer,"  returned  Mrs. 
154 


The  Faithful  Geyser 


Bruce,  with  a  little  conscious  laugh;  and  she 
gave  a  triumphant  side-glance  at  Betsy,  who 
kept  eyes  ahead,  fearing  every  moment  that 
her  mistress's  complaisance  would  receive  a 
shock  in  the  comprehension  of  Irving's  drift. 

He  understood  the  meaning  of  a  swift 
glance  suddenly  sent  him  by  Miss  Foster,  and 
began  to  whistle,  softly. 

As  they  neared  the  hotel  he  spoke.  "Come 
to  my  room  for  a  minute,  Betsy,  please.  I 
need  some  sewing  up,  and  I'll  give  it  to  you 
so  you  can  take  it  over  and  sit  by  Mrs.  Bruce 
to  see  that  she  obeys  my  order  to  take  a  nap." 

Mrs.  Bruce  regarded  him  affectionately  and 
went  with  docility  to  the  greenwood  of  her  bed 
room;  and  Betsy,  with  no  change  of  feature, 
followed  Irving  to  his.  When  they  were  inside, 
he  closed  the  door,  seated  Betsy  in  a  green 
rocker,  and  put  himself  astride  a  straight  chair. 

"You  know  very  well,"  said  Betsy  uneasily, 
"that  if  I  stay,  Mrs.  Bruce  will  come  over 
here." 

"No,  she  won't,"  returned  Irving,  "for  the 
best  of  reasons.  She  does  n't  know  which 
room  I  have." 

"Well,  give  me  your  things  quick,"  said 
Betsy. 

155 


Clever  Betsy 


"Why  are  you  afraid,  all  of  a  sudden?" 

"I — "  returned  Betsy,  hesitating,  "I  want 
to  —  to  keep  her  happy." 

"Not  for  your  own  sake,  I'll  bet." 

"No.   Give  me  your  things,  Mr.  Irving." 

The  young  man  did  not  move.  "Betsy," 
he  said,  "she  must  n't  stay  here." 

"Who  must  n't  stay  where?"  she  returned, 
reddening. 

"You  heard  Mr.  Derwent  say  that  they 
were  related,"  went  on  Irving. 

"You  think,"  said  Betsy,  with  rare  sarcasm, 
"she'd  be  in  better  business  writin'  stories  for 
some  fireside  paper,  or  imposin'  on  folks' 
credulity?" 

Her  companion  magnanimously  overlooked 
the  thrust. 

"She's  too  fine  from  head  to  foot,  physi 
cally,  and  too  fine  in  her  innocence,  to  be 
touched  with  anything  rough.  She  must  n't 
stay  here." 

"Who's  to  prevent  it?"  asked  Betsy  quietly, 
though  Irving  was  unconsciously  rewarding 
her  for  much  of  her  devotion. 

"lam." 

"That  ain't  possible." 

"Not  only  possible,  but  easy.  Give  her  the 
156 


The  Faithful  Geyser 


money  to  go  back  to  Portland  to  stay  till  we 
come.  She'll  never  know  it's  mine." 

"No,  sir!  I  won't  do  that.  She'd  never  take 
so  much  money  as  that  from  me,  and  I  'd  have 
to  tell  her  the  truth.  She's  just  possessed  to 
pay  Mrs.  Bruce  back,  as  it  is.  She'd  rather 
work  in  their  Park  years  than  not  do  it." 

Irving  made  an  impatient  sound,  and  Betsy 
shook  her  head. 

"Mrs.  Bruce  is  awful  down  on  her.  You'll 
find  it  out  if  you  touch  the  subject  any  lower 'n 
her  hair.  I  know  the  symptoms." 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do,  then?" 
asked  Irving,  frowning  impatiently. 

Miss  Foster  looked  back  at  him,  full. 

"That  ain't  anything  to  any  young  man," 
she  said  impressively. 

"You're  going  to  do  something,  then?"  he 
asked  eagerly.  "I  don't  want  to  go  into  that 
dining-room  to-night.  Do  you  like  to  see  her 
there?" 

He  rose,  spurned  his  chair,  and  walked  up 
and  down  the  log  cage. 

Betsy  followed  him  with  her  eyes.  "Look 
here,  Mr.  Irving.  I  love  Rosalie  Vincent." 

The  pedestrian  stopped,  and  hugged  the 
speaker's  thin  shoulders. 

157 


Clever  Betsy 


"And  I  don't  want  to  have  any  feelin' 
stirred  up  against  her.  If  you  take  any  inter 
est  in  her,  just  follow  my  advice,  and  while 
we're  all  together  here,  don't  notice  her,  and, 
above  all,  don't  speak  about  her." 

"She's  like  the  bit  of  porcelain  going  down 
the  river  among  the  earthen  jugs,"  burst  forth 
Irving. 

"Then  don't  throw  a  rock  at  her,"  returned 
Betsy.  "  She's  got  a  ticklish  enough  time  with 
out  that.  Where  are  your  things,  Mr.  Irving? " 
Betsy  started  from  her  chair  in  a  sudden 
panic. 

"Then  have  you  any  plan,  Clever  Betsy?" 
he  persisted.  "'T  is  n't  enough  just  to  be  fond 
of  her  and  —  and  mope." 

"You  sassy  boy!"  exclaimed  Betsy,  con 
cealing  her  inward  exultation  that  Rosalie 
had  a  friend  at  court,  albeit  a  dangerous  one. 
"You  mind  your  business  and  I'll  mind  mine; 
and  it  was  n't  ever  to  mope." 

"Good  for  you,  you  old  dear!  I  know  you'll 
do  something  for  that  —  that  wood-nymph." 

"Irving  Bruce,  give  me  your  mendin'.  Do 
you  suppose  there'll  be  any  naps  till  I  get 
back?" 

"Tell  her  I  had  to  hunt  for  it." 
158 


The  Faithful  Geyser 


"I  won't  lie  for  you  or  anybody  else." 

"I  wouldn't  have  you.  It's  the  absolute 
truth."  The  speaker  strode  over  to  where  his 
suit-case  lay  open  on  the  floor. 

Rummaging  through  its  contents,  he  fished 
out  a  white  silk  negligee  shirt  and  quickly 
tore  it  down  the  back. 

Betsy  sprang  forward  and  cried  out,  but 
the  deed  was  done.  He  pressed  the  garment 
into  her  arms  and  opened  the  door. 

"That  was  sinful!"  she  exclaimed,  regarding 
the  rent. 

"Not  half  so  bad  as  hurting  your  immortal 
soul  ? "  He  laughed  at  her  long  face  and  pushed 
her  gently  out  the  door.  "Remember  now," 
threateningly,  "if  you  don't  do  something, 
I  will.  I'm  trusting  you,  Betsy." 

"That's  wicked.  That's  just  wicked,"  said 
Miss  Foster  to  herself,  holding  up  to  view  the 
fine  garment  as  she  moved  down  the  deserted 
hall. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   HEIRESS 

WHEN  Robert  Nixon  ran  whistling  into  the 
hotel  and  took  the  stairs  two  at  a  time  up  to 
his  room,  he  met  his  mother  just  coming  in 
from  the  upper  veranda,  where  she  had  had 
the  interview  with  her  brother. 

"I  want  to  see  you,  Robert,"  she  said,  so 
solemnly  that  he  looked  amused. 

"Your  tone  takes  me  back  to  childhood's 
unhappy  hour,"  he  returned.  "Which  is  it 
to  be,  a  spanking  or  the  closet?" 

"Come  into  my  room  a  minute,"  went  on 
Mrs.  Nixon. 

"I  do  believe  it's  the  spanking.  Say, 
mamma,  forget  it.  The  geyser's  just  going  to 
spout." 

"I  must  speak  to  you  first." 

"'T  isn't  fair,"  objected  the  youth,  "be 
cause  you  do. spout  more  than  once  an  hour, 
you  know."  But  he  followed  his  stately 
mother  into  her  room,  for  she  looked  more 
imposing  than  usual,  and  his  curiosity  was 
roused. 

1 60 


The  Heiress 


As  soon  as  she  had  closed  the  door  she 
turned  to  him. 

"Where  is  Miss  Maynard?"  she  asked. 

Her  son's  eyebrows  and  shoulders  both 
jerked  upwards. 

"You  can  search  me"  he  responded. 

"Sit  down,  Robert." 

He  obeyed  the  impressive  order,  and  his 
mother  seated  herself  opposite. 

"What  has  that  sleek,  quiet  little  mouse 
been  doing?"  he  asked.  "I  have  n't  seen  her 
since  we  left  the  Riverside." 

"Robert,  I  want  you  to  think,  and  I  want 
you  to  be  serious." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  but  I'm  rusty  in  both 
lines." 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  my  treatment 
of  Miss  Maynard  has  impressed  you." 

Robert  whistled  softly.  "Offended,  is  she? 
Well,  she  ought  to  know  that  you're  never 
effusive.  I  've  tried  to  flirt  with  her  a  bit,  and 
strike  an  average." 

"Strike  an  average,  Robert?"  Mrs.  Nixon 
spoke  anxiously.  "Tell  me  directly  what  you 
mean.  Did  my  behavior  make  you  feel  that 
to  be  necessary?" 

"Well,"  the  .son  puffed  out  his  lips,  "what 
161 


Clever  Betsy 


with  Uncle  Henry's  deafness,  and  your  Vere- 
de-Vere  repose,  it  has  seemed  to  me  at  times 
that  it  was  rather  dull  for  a  maiden  stowed 
there  in  the  stage  beside  you.  I  made  a  few 
essays,  as  I  say,  to  jolly  her,  but  —  well,  I 
can't  say  they  were  successful.  One  does  n't 
care  to  have  one's  sweet  and  cheery  conversa 
tion  treated  like  the  tunefulness  of  a  string 
of  sleigh-bells.  Miss  Maynard  invariably 
makes  me  feel  the  drifting  snow  when  I  try 
to  chirk  her  up." 

"She'll  be  a  success  then,"  responded  Mrs. 
Nixon,  with  conviction;  and  while  her  son 
stared  at  this  comment,  she  went  on:  "I  am 
glad  of  all  the  civility  you  have  shown  her, 
Robert.  It  is  not  natural  to  me,  as  you  say, 
to  be  talkative  or  —  or  gushing,  and  yet  I  've 
always  been  perfectly  civil  to  Miss  Maynard. 
I  'm  sure  of  that.  You  never  noticed  anything 
else,  did  you?" 

Robert  looked  as  he  felt,  increasingly  puz 
zled. 

"No,  mother.  What's  up?  Has  Miss  May 
nard  been  complaining  to  Uncle  Henry?" 

"No.  /  complain  of  your  Uncle  Henry  that 
he  has  not  been  frank  with  me.  When  he 
suggested  the  convenience  to  him  of  taking 

162 


The  Heiress 


his  stenographer  on  this  trip,  and  said  she 
could  hook  my  gowns,  he  should  have  told 
me  that  the  very  presentable,  quiet  girl  I  had 
so  often  seen  in  his  office  was  a  probable  heir 


ess." 


"What?"  Robert  sat  up  and  his  voice  broke 
into  the  high  register.  "You  don't  say  so!  I 
don't  blame  him.  There's  too  many  a  slip 
about  that  sort  of  possibility." 

"It's  settled,"  said  Mrs.  Nixon  solemnly. 
"It  was  settled  to-day.  She  is  one;  and  from 
what  your  uncle  says,  the  fortune  is  large." 

Robert  clasped  his  hands  and  lifted  his 
eyes.  "I've  always  admired  her  nose.  How 
much  straighter  it  will  be  now!"  he  ejaculated 
devoutly. 

"I  insist,  Robert,"  said  Mrs.  Nixon,  "I 
must  insist  for  once  on  your  being  serious. 
I'm  very  much  pleased  with  you,  and  with 
what  you  tell  me,  because  —  Well,  my  son, 
I  do  not  need  to  remind  you  that  a  vulgar 
person  with  money  is  a  creature  of  no  interest 
to  me;  but  Miss  Maynard  is  a  lady.  I  have 
always  granted  it;  and  now  she  will  need  ad 
vice  and  directing.  Her  relatives  live  in  the 
country,  and  are  too  elderly  to  be  available 
in  any  case.  I  should  wish  her  to  feel  that  she 

163 


Clever  Betsy 


might  turn  to  me;  and  I  hope  nothing  in  my 
behavior  on  this  trip  has  had  a  —  a  tendency 
to  estrange  her." 

"Your  conduct  has  been  to  a  stranger," 
returned  Robert. 

Mrs.  Nixon  lifted  her  head  with  a  regal  air 
in  which  there  was  nevertheless  anxiety. 

"I  suppose  for  the  sake  of  making  a  foolish 
pun  you  would  say  that,  and  make  me  un 
comfortable." 

Her  son  laughed,  and  going  over  to  where 
she  sat,  put  his  arms  around  her  unyielding 
form. 

"Don't  worry,  mother.  You  may  be  a  bit 
cool  in  your  methods,  but  you  arrive,  just 
like  a  fireless  cooker.  How  long  has  the  heiress 
known  of  her  good  fortune?" 

"Just  to-day.   Just  since  noon." 

"Noon,  eh?  Did  you  see  me  escorting  her 
at  the  Riverside  show?" 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  Nixon  lugubriously. 
"I  was  too  much  engaged  in  taking  care  of 
your  Uncle  Henry." 

Robert  straightened  up  and  threw  his  head 
back  for  a  hearty  laugh. 

"The  Yellowstone  is  growing  exciting,"  he 
said.  "  Heavers  to  right  of  us,  heiresses  to  left 

164 


The  Heiress 


of  us.  Wayward  brothers,  and,"  striking  his 
breast  triumphantly,  "wise  sons!" 

"Yes,  Robert.  You've  done  very  well,  I 
must  say." 

"Miss  Maynard,  —  you  observe  that  I 
speak  the  name  with  new  and  due  reverence,  — 
the  heiress,  I  say,  went  to  school  with  Hebe 
the  heaver." 

"Is  it  possible?"  returned  Mrs.  Nixon 
coldly.  "Did  —  did  the  waitress  claim  ac 
quaintance?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  rejoined  Robert  cheer 
fully.  "Cousin  turned  the  heiress  down." 

"Robert,  what  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Why,  you  heard  Uncle  Henry  say  we  were 
related." 

Mrs.  Nixon  made  an  exclamation.  "Why 
must  men  of  all  ages  lose  their  wits  at  sight 
of  a  pretty  face?"  she  inquired  of  the  ceiling. 

"The  conundrum  of  the  ages,  mamma,  and 
I'm  young  yet,  so  I  can't  tell  you;  but  if  you 
had  n't  been  more  of  a  sister  than  a  mother 
you  'd  have  watched  my  foresighted  behavior. 
To  tell  the  truth,  when  you  glared  at  Hebe 
there  by  the  river,  I  thought  she  was  going  to 
cry;  so  when  Brute's  mother  buttonholed  him 
and  you  took  Uncle  Henry  by  the  ear,  I  sought 

165 


Clever  Betsy 


refuge  with  the  stenographer,  though  the 
heaver  looked  pretty  enough  to  eat.  I  knew 
Betsy  would  look  after  her." 

"They  were  at  school  together?"  repeated 
Mrs.  Nixon,  wondering. 

"Sure  as  you're  a  foot  high;  and  when  the 
now  valuable  Miss  Maynard  accosted  Hebe 
at  the  Fountain  House,  the  lovely  heaver 
begged  her  to  forget  it.  There's  a  story  at 
tached  to  her.  Brute  told  me — " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Nixon  impatiently. 
"Mrs.  Bruce  told  me  what  she  had  done  for 
her.  I  dare  say  she  has  found  her  right  place. 
There  is  no  need  of  making  a  fuss  over  her." 

Robert  shook  his  finger  at  the  speaker. 
"Careful,  careful,  mother.  Supposing  you 
should  waken  to-morrow  morning  and  find 
that  the  heaver's  uncle  in  India  had  passed  to 
his  fathers,  and  that  Miss  Vincent  was  likely 
to  require  the  advice  of  an  experienced  chap 


eron.'1 


Mrs.  Nixon  waved  this  nonsense  aside  with 
a  gesture,  and  returned  to  the  subject  in  hand. 

"I  think  the  thing  for  me  to  do  is  to  find 
Miss  Maynard  now,  tell  her  that  Mr.  Derwent 
has  informed  me  of  her  good  fortune,  and  con 
gratulate  her." 

166 


The  Heiress 


Robert  rubbed  his  hands  together  with  a 
malevolent  and  gleeful  laugh.  "Can't  you 
hide  me  behind  the  screen  and  send  for  her?" 
he  begged. 

Mrs.  Nixon  had  risen  and  now  drew  herself 
up. 

"What,  pray,  do  you  think  would  be  so 
amusing  about  it?  Do  you  think  your  mother 
would  be  less  than  dignified?" 

"No,  no,  honey,"  rejoined  her  irreverent 
son,  forcibly  taking  her  reluctant  hands.  "I 
was  only  thinking  of  witnessing  a  friendly  inter 
view  between  an  icicle  and  a  stalactite."  He 
chuckled  again  and  clapped  the  maternal  hands 
together,  totally  against  the  maternal  will. 

"You  may  go  now,  Robert,  and  —  and,  go 
on  as  you  have  begun."  She  pushed  him 
toward  the  door.  "You  say  the  geyser  is  play- 
ing?" 

"Was  playing." 

"Well,  we  must  all  see  it  the  next  time. 
Good-by,  dear." 

Closing  the  door  behind  him,  the  lady  re 
turned  to  her  mirror  and  gave  her  hair  some 
touches. 

Then  she  started  again  to  the  door  with  in 
tent  to  seek  her  "companion." 


Clever  Betsy 


As  she  reached  it,  she  was  met  by  a  knock. 

She  opened  and  came  face  to  face  with  the 
object  of  her  thoughts. 

"Come  in,  come  in,  Miss  Maynard,"  she 
said,  and  there  was  a  noticeable  cordiality  in 
her  voice. 

The  trim  girl,  with  her  symmetrical  little 
face  and  smooth  brown  hair,  stepped  just  in 
side  the  door. 

"I  came  to  see  if  you  wished  to  change  your 
gown  before  tea." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  change  it  to-day.  Come 
in.  I  wished  to  see  you.  Mr.  Derwent  has  been 
telling  me  of  your  good  fortune.  I  wish  to  con 
gratulate  you." 

There  was  no  elation  or  change  of  manner 
in  the  quiet  girl  as  she  replied:  — 

"Thank  you.  Mr.  Derwent  has  done  fine 
work  for  me.  You  don't  wish  my  help,  then?" 

Mrs.  Nixon  hesitated.  She  knew  that  yes 
terday  she  would  have  said  no,  and  closed  the 
door,  and  she  knew  that  Helen  Maynard 
knew  it;  so  though  she  desired  to  beg  her  to 
be  seated  for  a  chat,  she  indulged  in  no  such 
stupidity. 

"Did  you  see  the  geyser  play?"  she  asked. 
"The  Old  Faithful?" 

168 


The  Heiress 


"No."  Helen  Maynard  had  indeed  been 
in  her  own  room,  careless  of  scenery,  absorbed 
in  the  considerations  that  had  held  her  captive 
since  Mr.  Derwent  had  shown  his  telegram. 

"My  son  says  it  has  just  played.  Let  us  not 
miss  the  next  show." 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  come  for  you?" 

The  question  was  put  in  precisely  the  same 
tone  and  manner  that  Helen  would  have  used 
yesterday,  and  Mrs.  Nixon  admired  her  poise. 

"Thank  you.  I  am  going  down  into  the 
office.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  the  geyser  with 
you  when  the  time  comes." 

Helen  Maynard  turned  away,  and  a  cynical 
little  smile  grew  on  her  lips.  Mrs.  Nixon  had 
tried  nobly  to  keep  her  usual  manner  un 
changed;  but  despite  herself  there  was  a 
warmth  there  unknown  before,  and  Helen 
was  alert  to  perceive  it. 

The  girl  hummed  an  air  from  "Faust"  as 
she  ran  down  the  stairs  of  the  gigantic  log- 
cabin.  It  was  the  "Calf  of  Gold"  that  she 
sang. 

She  was,  as  Mr.  Derwent  had  said,  a  very 
level-headed  young  woman,  and  under  the 
present  circumstances  kept  her  joyous  excite 
ment  under  control ;  but  she  was  alive  in  every 

169 


Clever  Betsy 


fibre  to  the  change  in  her  life  which  these  six 
figures  to  her  credit  were  about  to  make. 

She  had  faced  all  that  failure  would  mean; 
faced  the  prospect  of  a  narrow  life  on  the  farm, 
or  a  struggling  life  in  the  city.  In  either  case 
a  life  of  early-to-bed  and  early-to-rise  routine, 
against  which  all  her  tastes  rebelled. 

With  the  relaxation  from  strain  had  come 
a  certain  intoxication;  but  pride  kept  the  girl 
externally  calm.  The  patronizing  Mrs.  Bruce 
would  scrutinize  her  now  through  those  eye 
glasses.  She  should  never  have  a  chance  to 
say,  "Set  a  beggar  on  horseback!"  Irving 
Bruce  would,  perhaps,  become  aware  of  her 
existence.  She  exulted  in  the  steadiness  with 
which  she  had  held  Robert  Nixon  at  a  dis 
tance  with  his  amiable  raillery.  She  had  done 
this  from  politic  motives,  knowing  that  if  she 
were  to  remain  in  Mrs.  Nixon's  good  graces, 
only  so  could  it  be  accomplished;  but  now  it 
increased  her  satisfaction  in  the  consideration 
of  the  subtle  change  in  that  lady's  manner 
toward  her. 

What  a  gulf  now  between  herself  and  her 
acquaintance  of  Lambeth  days!  Mr.  Der- 
went's  interest  in  Rosalie  had  merely  served 
to  get  her  into  trouble. 

170 


The  Heiress 


Years  ago  on  the  farm  Miss  Maynard's 
grandmother  had  said  to  her  husband:  — 

"Helen's  dreadfully  high-headed.  I  don't 
know  whatever  '11  become  of  her  if  she  gets 
all  that  money." 

More  than  a  slight  mixture  of  contempt 
pervaded  her  thoughts  of  Rosalie  now.  No 
combination  of  circumstances  would  ever  have 
forced  her  to  wait  on  tourists  in  the  Yellow 
stone.  It  did  not  raise  the  poor  young  waitress 
in  Miss  Maynard's  regard  that  Mr.  Derwent 
had  been  attracted  by  her,  and  even  claimed 
relationship.  In  that  particular  she  shared 
Mrs.  Nixon's  annoyance.  Helen  thought  she 
might  herself  do  something  for  Rosalie  some 
day  if  the  girl  were  really  helpless,  or  had  some 
sad  reason  for  not  desiring  recognition. 

In  a  few  short  hours  Miss  Maynard  had 
floated  up  from  the  stratum  occupied  by  the 
under-dog  to  the  vantage-ground  of  the  power 
ful,  and  her  heart  exulted. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  the  Bruces  she  knew  that 
they  had  heard  the  news.  Mrs.  Bruce  ap 
proached  her  with  an  alert  manner. 

"I'm  delighted  to  hear  of  your  good  for 
tune,  Miss  Maynard,"  she  said  briskly;  and 
Helen  thanked  her  demurely. 

171 


Clever  Betsy 


"Do  you  hurry  back  to  Boston?"  added  the 
lady. 

"Oh,  no/'  returned  Helen  quietly.  "Mr. 
Derwent  needs  his  stenographer  as  much  as 
ever.  I  am  not  his  only  client." 

"I  suppose  not.  Ha,  ha,  pretty  good!  Well, 
my  dear  Miss  Maynard,  I  wish  you  all  pros 
perity.  I've  always  been  attracted  to  you." 

"I  do  think,  Irving,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce  to 
her  son  as  they  sat  at  supper,  "it's  the  strang 
est  thing  in  the  world  to  see  so  young  a  person 
absolutely  stoical  at  such  a  time.  If  it  had 
happened  to  me  at  her  age  I  should  have 
called  upon  everybody  to  rejoice  with  me!" 

"Probably  she  is  to  the  manner  born,"  re 
turned  Irving  absent-mindedly.  His  thoughts 
were  with  the  fair-haired  girl  whose  round 
slender  arms  were  bearing  a  tray  across  the 
dining-room. 

"That  is  no  work  for  Miss  Vincent,"  he 
observed  tentatively. 

"I  don't  think  we  know,"  returned  Mrs. 
Bruce  coolly. 

"You  said  once,"  remarked  Betsy  quietly, 
"that  Rosalie  was  an  artist;  that  you  always 
knew  'em  when  you  saw  'em.  It  does  seem 
queer  work  for  an  artist." 

172 


The  Heiress 


Mrs.  Bruce  stared  at  her  companion  in  sur 
prise. 

"Well,  whose  fault  is  it,  I  should  like  to 
know.  She  did  have  some  talent.  I  tried  to 
have  it  cultivated,  but  evidently  she  was  too 
superficial.  People  find  their  level.  You  can't 
help  it." 

Betsy  gave  Irving  such  a  repressive  look 
that  he  swallowed  some  remark  which  had 
reached  the  end  of  his  tongue.  Then,  again 
opening  his  lips,  he  gave  Mrs.  Bruce  a  resume 
of  what  had  happened  to  her  protegee  since 
her  befriending  of  the  girl. 

"Well,  why  should  n't  she  have  married 
Mrs.  Pogram's  brother?"  she  returned  care 
lessly. 

"He  is  a  cad,  I  tell  you,"  returned  Irving, 
manfully  repressing  his  rising  wrath. 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Bruce  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
"the  girl  is  a  beggar.  She  can't  choose." 

The  light  that  suddenly  sparkled  in  living's 
eyes  made  Betsy  hasten  to  speak. 

"You  said  when  we  were  talkin'  about  it 
that  time,  that  it  was  a  pity  for  girls  who  had 
those  talents  to  get  married.  I  guess  Rosalie 
feels  herself  she  has  some  talent." 

"Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Bruce,  busily  eating, 
173 


Clever  Betsy 


and  unconscious  of  the  storm  brewing  beside 
her,  "a  talent  for,"  she  laughed,  —  "heaving. 
She's  just  a  pretty  doll,  and  it  is  amazing  what 
fools  a  pretty  face  will  make  of  men  of  all 
types  and  ages."  Mrs.  Bruce  laughed  glee 
fully.  "  I  shan't  forget  Mrs.  Nixon's  eyes  when 
she  saw  her  brother  sitting  on  the  grass  and 
apparently  making  love  to  the  girl.  Now,  take 
Miss  Maynard,  there's  strength  and  poise  in 
the  very  lift  of  her  head."  Mrs.  Bruce  looked 
across  at  the  Nixon  table  approvingly.  "I  do 
hope,  Irving,  you  will  take  a  little  pains  to 
become  acquainted  with  Miss  Maynard.  I 
understand  the  girl's  reserve  now  and  her  ab 
straction.  I  asked  Robert  if  he  and  his  mother 
had  known  about  it,  and  he  said  they  had  not; 
but  I  'm  not  so  sure  about  him  ;  "  —  the  speaker 
shook  her  head  astutely; — "he  has  been  very 
civil  to  the  girl  ever  since  we  started." 

"Heavens!  is  that  a  sign?"  exclaimed  Irving 
testily. 

Mrs.  Bruce  looked  around  at  him  and  raised 
her  eyebrows.  "Why  not,  cross-patch?  He 
is  his  mother's  son,  and  she  has  nearly  refrig 
erated  her  poor  companion.  I've  been  quite 
nice  to  her."  Mrs.  Bruce  returned  to  her 
omelet  complacently.  "It  will  make  things 

174 


The  Heiress 


pleasant  now.  Everybody  is  looking  forward 
so  to  seeing  the  colored  lights  thrown  on  the 
geyser  to-night.  I  think  it  would  be  nice  of 
you,  Irving,  to  take  Miss  Maynard  out  to  see 
it.  There's  a  moon,  too." 

"It  would  be  very  nice  of  me,"  returned  the 
young  man  savagely.  "Colored  lights  on  the 
geyser !  I  wonder  if  they  paint  lilies  out  here ! " 

He  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table. 
"Will  you  and  Betsy  excuse  me,  Madama;  " 
and  without  further  apology  Irving  left  the 
table  and  went  out  to  the  office,  where  on  four 
sides  of  the  great  chimney  were  blazing  gen 
erous  open  fires,  that  could  roast  an  ox. 

Mrs.  Bruce  turned  to  her  companion. 

"What  has  put  Mr.  Irving  out  of  sorts?" 
she  asked. 

Betsy  ate  very  busily.  "  'T  ain't  best  to  no 
tice  his  moods,  Mrs.  Bruce.  You  know  that 
was  always  the  best  way  to  treat  him." 

Mrs.  Bruce  looked  across  again  at  the  Nixon 
table  and  laughed  maliciously.  "This  is  n't 
Mrs.  Nixon's  lucky  day,"  she  said.  "First  her 
brother  has  to  be  lured  from  a  siren,  and  then 
she  has  the  shock  of  discovering  that  she  has 
been  entertaining  an  heiress  unawares!  Poor 
Mrs.  Nixon !  It  will  be  sport  to  watch  her  now." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    LOOKOUT 

IN  the  comings  and  goings  through  the  halls 
and  veranda  of  the  charming  inn,  Irving  Bruce 
managed  to  lose  his  stepmother  and  find  Betsy 
Foster,  greatly  to  the  latter's  confusion;  for 
it  was  time  for  the  evening  performance  of  the 
geyser. 

Irving  took  his  old  friend  by  the  arm. 
"You're  going  out  there  with  me,  Betsy,"  he 
said. 

"Not  without  Mrs.  Bruce,  I  ain't." 

"Yes,  you  are.  We're  going  to  stray  in  the 
moonlight  together." 

"If  you  ever  had  another  guess  comin' 
you  've  got  it  now,  Mr.  Irving,"  declared  Betsy 
firmly.  "You  find  Mrs.  Bruce  right  off." 

Irving  sighed  and  succumbed.  Finding  his 
adorer  was  an  easy  matter,  and  he  did  so  with 
out  more  ado.  They  joined  the  throng  that 
moved  toward  the  geyser,  and  as  good  fortune 
would  have  it,  were  in  time  to  find  one  seat 
on  the  benches  where  Mrs.  Bruce  and  Mrs. 
Nixon  could  sit  together.  Then  Irving  unos- 


The  Lookout 


tentatiously  withdrew,  and  again  catching 
Betsy  by  the  arm  took  her  a  few  paces  away. 
The  silvery  light  of  the  clear  moon  bathed  the 
cool  mountain  night. 

"What  have  you  decided  to  do,  Betsy?" 
he  asked. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  Rosalie." 

Irving  gave  the  thin  arm  an  impatient  shake. 

"Well,"  said  Betsy  coolly,  "I  haven't  de 
cided." 

"If  you  don't  do  something,  I  shall." 

"You  ain't  qualified,"  remarked  Betsy 
curtly. 

"Are  you ?"  retorted  her  companion.  "That 
thing  must  n't  be  allowed  to  go  on.  That 
waitress  business!  That  lovely  flower  sub 
jected  to  orders  and  winks  and  tips.  I  won't 
stand  it." 

"Well  now,  you  can't  do  a  thing!"  declared 
Betsy  firmly. 

"Are  you  going  to?" 

"I  am,  in  my  own  time  and  way." 

"Does  your  own  time  and  way  include  let 
ting  Rosalie  work  the  rest  of  the  season?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  Betsy  tersely.  "You  must 
n't  interfere,  Mr.  Irving.  You'll  only  do 
harm." 

177 


Clever  Betsy 


Irving  gave  an  exclamation.  "There  is  one 
thing  I  can  do:  go  away  to-morrow.  I'm  not 
going  to  stay  here  and  watch  it." 

"But  Mrs.  Bruce — "  began  Betsy,  trou 
bled. 

"Can  do  as  she  pleases,"  put  in  Irving. 
"I'll  go  to  Yellowstone  Lake  and  fish  till  she 
gets  ready  to  follow." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!  Mr.  Irving!" 

The  exclamation  was  of  joy,  for  in  the  ear 
nestness  of  their  talk  Betsy  had  not  noticed 
the  preliminary  spurts  of  water,  and  now  the 
splendid  captive  stream  burst  its  bonds  and 
gushed  skyward  in  the  moonlight.  Its  ban 
ners  of  spray  hung  and  floated  cloud-like  in 
the  breeze;  and  while  they  gazed,  all  at  once 
the  pure  white  flushed  to  rose,  then  changed 
to  violet,  and  presently  a  gauzy  rainbow  hung 
between  earth  and  heaven,  a  thing  of  super 
natural  beauty. 

"Do  you  suppose  she  is  seeing  this?"  mur 
mured  Irving. 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  Betsy  replied  promptly. 
She  feared  that  any  other  answer  would  send 
her  companion  to  the  commissary  department 
of  the  inn. 

Helen  Maynard  and  Mr.  Derwent  were 
178 


The  Lookout 


together  watching  the  lovely  sight  when  Robert 
Nixon  came  upon  them.  His  hands  were  in 
his  pockets  and  he  was  whistling  softly,  as  was 
his  wont  when  the  performance  was  not  cheer 
fully  piercing. 

"May  I  come  and  stand  by  the  rich  lady?" 
he  asked. 

The  geyser  was  just  disappearing. 

"How  cold  and  blank  the  night  seems  to 
have  turned!"  said  Helen  pensively. 

Robert  struck  his  breast  with  his  doubled 
fist. 

"Cruel  maiden!"  he  ejaculated,  "why  flout 
me  thus?  Say,  Miss  Maynard,"  he  continued, 
in  a  voice  changed  to  interest,  "do  you  know 
you  can  make  Uncle  Henry  hear  better  than 
anybody?" 

"I  have  made  a  study  of  it,"  returned  the 
girl  composedly. 

Robert  gazed  at  her  admiringly.  "I  think 
it  was  downright  fine  and  heroic  for  Uncle 
Henry  to  crush  those  conspirators  and  get 
your  shekels  for  you.  He's  going  to  miss  you 
like  his  right  hand." 

"I  hope  he  will  miss  me  a  little."  As  she 
spoke  Helen  looked  up  at  the  fine  head  set 
so  well  on  Mr.  Derwent's  broad  shoulders; 

179 


Clever  Betsy 


at  the  white  mustache,  and  gray  hair,  and  all 
the  features  she  knew  so  well. 

"I  '11  bet  she  admires  him,"  thought  Robert, 
following  her  gaze  to  the  impassive  face. 
"He's  a  winner.  If  he  only  had  his  hearing 
he'd  make  us  all  take  notice." 

Robert  shook  his  head  with  the  fleeting 
sympathy  of  prosperous  youth. 

The  sightseers  began  to  gravitate  toward 
the  hotel,  and  this  trio  moved  with  them. 

Within  the  inn  all  was  warmth  and  light. 
A  Brobdingnagian  corn-popper  was  produced, 
and  one  of  the  open  fires  being  reduced  to  the 
proper  condition,  a  cheerful  crackling  began 
as  the  corn  bounded  high  in  its  ample  prison. 

"We're  in  the  land  of  bigness,  Mrs.  Nixon," 
said  Mrs.  Bruce,  as  they  sat  at  a  comfortable 
distance  from  the  heat. 

"Indeed,  yes,"  returned  that  lady.  "I  was 
just  saying  to  Miss  Maynard  that  apparently 
the  mountains  set  the  pace  here." 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Nixon  looked  graciously 
at  her  companion,  who  occupied  a  neighboring 
chair. 

"Were  you,  indeed!"  thought  Mrs.  Bruce, 
amused.  "I'm  glad  you've  found  out  you  can 
say  something  to  the  girl!" 

1 80 


The  Lookout 


"Irving,"  she  said  aloud,  looking  up  at  her 
son  as  he  stood,  tall  and  abstracted,  staring 
into  the  mammoth  fire,  "why  don't  you  take 
Miss  Maynard  up  to  the  Lookout.  There 
must  be  a  glorious  view  from  there  to-night." 

Without  moving,  Helen  lifted  her  eyes  to 
Irving  and  met  his  gloomy  regard. 

"I  doubt  if  Miss  Maynard  cares  to  ascend 
a  perpendicular  corduroy  road,"  he  answered. 
"I'm  told  it  is  eight  stories  up." 

"You  might  ask  her,"  remarked  the  girl 
herself,  with  composure. 

"Surely,"  laughed  Mrs.  Bruce.  "It  would 
be  such  a  simple  way  of  finding  out." 

Irving  had  not  the  grace  to  smile.  He  con 
tinued  to  regard  the  humble  companion  of 
yesterday,  the  heiress  of  to-day,  without 
moving. 

"Would  you?"  he  asked  sententiously. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  promptly,  and  rose. 

The  proposition  was  so  foreign  to  Bruce's 
mood  that  it  required  a  noticeable  moment 
for  him  to  pull  himself  together  sufficiently 
to  join  the  young  lady  with  tolerable  grace. 

She  gave  him  a  comprehending  glance  as 
they  moved  toward  the  staircase. 

"Probably  all  your  life,"  she  said  slowly, 
181 


Clever  Betsy 


"you  have  done  just  what  you  liked.  I  have 
never  done  anything  I  liked.  I  am  beginning 
to-night." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  don't  want  to  do  this, 
but  I  do,"  she  added,  "and  that's  all  I'm 
going  to  think  of.  It's  my  turn." 

Mrs.  Nixon  and  Mrs.  Bruce  followed  them 
with  their  eyes. 

"What  a  little  thing  Miss  Maynard  is," 
remarked  the  latter.  "  See,  she  barely  reaches 
Irving's  shoulder.  I  Ve  always  said  he'd  marry 
some  mite  of  a  creature.  That's  the  way  tall 
men  always  do,  and  then  giraffes  of  women 
have  to  mate  with  short  ones." 

"I'm  sorry  Robert  was  n't  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Nixon  coldly.  "He  would  certainly  have 
obliged  Miss  Maynard  with  a  better  grace." 

"Irving  is  terribly  indifferent,"  returned 
Mrs.  Bruce  complacently.  "If  /  want  any 
thing,  he's  all  alive  at  once;  but  when  it's  a 
question  of  any  other  woman — "  She  fin 
ished  with  a  significant  gesture. 

"I  have  endeavored,"  said  Mrs.  Nixon,  with 
stateliness,  "to  inculcate  in  Robert  unvarying 
courtesy  to  all  women." 

Mrs.  Bruce  began  to  grow  warm  under  her 
182 


The  Lookout 


niching.  "Yes,  dear,  I  know,"  she  replied, 
with  a  well-done  sigh.  "It's  so  much  easier 
when  a  man  has  n't  distinguished  himself 
especially  at  college.  These  football  heroes  — " 
she  shook  her  head  regretfully  —  "they  do  get 
spoiled,  I  admit,  and  grow  careless.  Then  they 
reflect  very  little  credit  on  their  bringing-up. 
Excuse  me  a  moment,  Mrs.  Nixon,  I  must 
speak  to  Betsy."  And  Mrs.  Bruce  rose  grace 
fully  and  departed  on  her  fictitious  errand 
rather  than  sustain  her  friend's  possible  re 
joinder. 

"For  if,"  she  reflected,  "the  woman  should 
say  anything  really  against  Irving  it  would 
spoil  the  rest  of  the  trip.  The  idea !  He  might 
have  treated  Miss  Maynard  outrageously 
yesterday  and  Mrs.  Nixon  would  n't  ever  have 
noticed  it;  but  to-night  she  begrudges  them 
a  moonlight  excursion." 

Mrs.  Nixon  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
breathing  a  little  fast  as  her  son  and  heir 
approached  her. 

"Where  were  you,  Robert?"  she  asked  re- 
bukingly. 

"Pacing  the  deck  outside.  I've  no  ambition 
to  take  the  leading  role  in  a  barbecue." 

"It's  not  so  hot." 

183 


Clever  Betsy 


"Well,  it's  better  now.  Where's  Brute?" 

Mrs.  Nixon's  nostrils  dilated.  "Your  very 
well-named  friend  has  taken  Miss  Maynard 
up  to  the  Lookout,"  she  returned  suavely. 
"He  made  it  very  evident  that  he  went  under 
compulsion.  I  wished  that  you  had  been  here." 

"Led  him  to  it,  did  she?"  Robert  laughed. 
"Good  for  her.  I  like  to  see  Brute  coerced. 
And  girls  like  to  do  it.  She's  having  the  time 
of  her  life,  never  fear." 

"I  don't  think  so.  It  is  a  very  disagreeable 
position  for  a  young  girl  to  be  put  in;  and  his 
manner  was  atrocious." 

"Mother,"  Robert  shook  a  sapient  finger 
in  her  direction,  "mother,  there  won't  be  any 
disagreeable  positions  for  that  young  lady." 

Mrs.  Nixon  regarded  the  speaker  attentively. 

"She  strikes  me  as  a  person  who  has  been 
biding  her  time,"  declared  Robert.  "At  pre 
sent  she  has  arrived;  and  although  she  doesn't 
make  any  fuss  about  it,  that  little  hand  of 
hers,  with  no  rings  on  it,  is  closing  around  the 
tail  of  this  giddy  old  world,  and  if  it  does  n't 
turn  to  suit  her,  I  think  you'll  find  her  giving 
it  a  twist  in  the  other  direction." 

"I'm  certainly  at  a  loss  to  know  what  you 
mean,  Robert. "  She  has  always  displayed  ex- 
'184 


The  Lookout 


cellent  taste  in  her  position.  She  has  been  en 
tirely  quiet  and  docile." 

"Quiet,  yes,"  replied  Robert  with  a  laugh, 
"but  docile!  That's  all  you  know  about  it. 
My  dear  parent,  mark  my  words.  Don't  you 
ever  imagine  that  this  is  any  jeune  fille  case, 
needing  protection.  Miss  Helen  Maynard  is 
composed  of  two  thirds  sand  and  the  other 
third  grit." 

The  speaker  closed  his  eyes  and  nodded  his 
head  slowly  in  a  manner  to  express  convic 
tion. 

"Well!  I  had  no  idea  you  were  such  a  stu 
dent  of  character." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  returned  her  son  pro 
saically.  "Never  see  anything  till  it  hits  me 
in  the  nose." 

"Then  I'm  very  dull,"  returned  the  other 
with  some  hauteur,  "for  no  such  thing  has 
ever  been  obvious  to  me." 

"She's  fetching,  oh,  yes,"  allowed  Robert, 
"and  she'll  make  other  people  fetch,  too.  It 
cheers  me  to  think  she's  making  Brute  toil 
up  seven  flights  of  log-stairs  to  look  at  the 
moon  with  her." 

"  She  will  be  a  success,  just  because  she  has 
herself  so  well  in  hand,"  declared  Mrs.  Nixon, 

185 


Clever  Betsy 


unwilling  to  view  this  subject  lightly.  "She 
is  not  a  beauty,  but  well-gowned  and  with  her 
self-possession  she  will  pass  for  one." 

"Oh,  yes,"  agreed  Robert  lightly. 

He  had  thrown  himself  into  Mrs.  Brace's 
vacated  chair,  and  there  was  silence  for  a  span 
while  the  two  gazed  at  the  fire;  then  the  lady 
spoke  again,  tentatively. 

"However  independent  Miss  Maynard  may 
be,  she  will  require  a  chaperon  now." 

"Yes,  one  well  trained  to  follow  at  heel." 

"Robert,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  exaggerate 
so." 

"Dear  me,  mamma  mia,"  looking  up  in 
surprise  at  the  impatient  tone.  "Why  should 
it  make  you  peevish?" 

Mrs.  Nixon's  reply  was  dignified.  "Because 
the  duty  may  devolve  upon  me." 

"Heavens!  Why?" 

"Well,  your  uncle  Henry  is  very  much  at 
tached  to  the  girl.  He  has  a  natural  interest 
in  her  welfare." 

"Has  he  asked  you  to  look  after  her?" 

"He  has  suggested  that  we  extend  the  hos 
pitality  of  our  home  to  her." 

"Oh,  come  now!"  ejaculated  Robert. 
"When  I'm  to  have  a  sister,  please  select  a 

1 86 


The  Lookout 


nice  pussy  one  with  appealing  eyes  like  —  like 
Hebe  the  Heaver,  for  instance." 

"There  will  be  no  sister  about  it,"  returned 
Mrs.  Nixon  sharply. 

"Mamma,  mamma!"  Her  son  turned  lazily 
accusing  eyes  upon  her.  "Have  you  ulterior 
motives?  Are  you  laying  any  traps  for  your 
little  Robbie?" 

Mrs.  Nixon  gave  a  faint  laugh  in  spite  of 
herself.  ._.^ 

"My  dear,  I  wish  you  were  n't  quite  such  a 
goose.  Is  it  likely  that  I  should  expect  you 
to  be  interested  in  a  combination  of  sand  and 
grit?" 

Robert  looked  back  at  the  fire.  "There's 
no  telling  what  a  solicitous  mother  will  expect 
when  there  are  shekels  in  the  balance.  It 
would  be  a  dangerous  clash  under  the  same 
roof,  for  you  know  I'm  two  thirds  brass  and 
the  other  third  pure  affection,  and  that's  a 
mixture  akin  to  dynamite." 

Silence  again  for  a  space. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  when  we  get 
back  to  the  Hub?"  inquired  Robert  at  last. 

"We  have  n't  quite  decided,  your  uncle 
and  I." 

"I'm  going  to  Fairport  to  sail  with  Brute." 
187 


Clever  Betsy 


"You  are?  Well  then,  we  shall  be  tempted 
to  follow.  Is  it  a  possible  place  outside  the 
cottages?" 

"Quite  so,  Brute  says.  Getting  more  so 
every  year,  because  there's  a  river  flowing 
into  the  sea  that  gives  the  variety  of  canoeing. 
He  says  the  Fairport  Inn  is  getting  to  be  quite 
dressy." 

"Why  should  n't  we  all  try  it,  then?"  asked 
Mrs.  Nixon. 

"All?" 

"Yes,  all.  It  would  be  the  best  of  ways  for 
us  to  test  Miss  Maynard's  suitability.  I  shall 
not  ask  her  to  live  with  us  without  your  con 
sent,  Robert,"  finished  Mrs.  Nixon  solemnly. 
"The  home-circle  is  sacred." 


CHAPTER  XV 

AN    EXODUS 

WHATEVER  interview  Miss  Maynard  and 
Bruce  may  have  had  in  the  Lookout  of  the 
inn,  it  did  not  appear  to  have  changed  the 
young  man's  mood  when  later  he  sought  his 
stepmother. 

She  was  in  her  bedroom  wrapped  in  a  neg 
ligee  when  she  admitted  him. 

"Was  it  very  beautiful?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"Very  extensive;  yes,  fine,"  he  replied. 

"You  must  take  me  up  there  to-morrow, 
Irving." 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  be  here  to-morrow. 
That's  what  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about." 

"Not  be  here!"  repeated  Mrs.  Bruce  in  dis 
may.  "Why,  look  at  this  room,  Irving."  The 
speaker  indicated  the  woodsy  interior.  "Is  n't 
it  perfectly  enchanting?  I  was  just  asking 
Betsy  if  she  did  n't  feel  like  a  dryad." 

Irving  glanced  at  Betsy,  quite  slim  enough 
for  the  role,  laying  out  her  mistress's  night 
paraphernalia  on  a  second  bed  in  the  opposite 
corner  of  the  green  room.  "I  was  just  saying 

189 


Clever  Betsy 


I  should  like  to  stay  here  all  summer.   What 
do  you  mean  by  to-morrow,  Irving?" 

"Nothing  that  need  disturb  you  at  all.  I 
hear  alluring  stories  of  fishing  at  the  lake.  I 
thought  I  would  go  there  and  wait  till  you 


came." 


"Oh,  dear!"  returned  Mrs.  Bruce.  "Is 
Nixie  going  too?" 

"  I  have  n't  asked  him  yet.  He  may.  I  Ve 
seen  all  I  care  to  see  here.  Thought  I  'd  come 
and  explain  because  I  might  get  off  before 
you're  up  in  the  morning." 

"Oh  Irving,  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to 
stay  with  Mrs.  Nixon!"  Mrs.  Bruce's  tone 
indicated  that  she  had  suddenly  found  her 
doll  stuffed  with  sawdust. 

"Stay  with  Betsy  and  Miss  Maynard  then. 
You  have  an  embarrassment  of  riches." 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  time  with  Miss 
Maynard?  What  is  the  demure  little  creature 
like  when  she  gets  off  with  a  man  ? " 

"Why,  she  gets  on  with  him." 

"Tell  me,  Irving." 

"She  is  interesting,"  was  the  unenthusiastic 
reply.  "  She  finds  the  situation  a  little  heady, 
naturally." 

"Well,  it's  absurd  to  see  Mrs.  Nixon  sud- 
190 


An  Exodus 


denly  so  exercised  about  her.  It  may  be  catty 
of  me,  but  I  was  very  glad  you  took  her  away." 

"Oh  no,  she  took  me  away."  Irving's  tone 
was  colorless.  While  in  the  Lookout  he  had 
brought  the  conversation  round  to  Rosalie 
Vincent.  He  had  had  a  vague  notion  that  this 
new-fledged  heiress  might  be  the  maker  of 
Rosalie's  pathway  into  more  congenial  sur 
roundings;  but  he  had  met  cool  indifference 
on  the  subject. 

" Good-night,  Madama."  He  kissed  her  fore 
head.  "Good-night,  Betsy.  If  you're  not 
down  to  speed  the  parting  guest,  I  will  expect 
to  see  you  some  day  on  the  shore  of  the  lake, 
hailing  me.  Have  a  good  time." 

"Oh,  Irving!"  began  Mrs.  Bruce,  holding 
open  the  door  he  tried  to  close;  but  he  inter 
rupted. 

"Now  get  your  beauty  sleep,  Madama.  It's 
all  settled.  Good-night";  and  the  door  closed. 

The  moon  sailing  over  the  Park  sent  a 
stream  of  light  into  Irving's  bed-chamber. 
He  watched  it  move  from  log  to  log,  from 
wash-stand  to  chiffonier,  and  as  it  reached 
each  new  object  he  felt  a  fresh  access  of  impa 
tience  at  himself  for  wasting  these  silent  hours. 

He  had  seen  Nixie  before  retiring,  and  that 
191 


Clever  Betsy 


youth  had  jumped  as  joyfully  at  the  fishing 
scheme  as  any  trout  at  the  fly. 

He  had  warmly  declined  to  divulge  his  in 
tentions  to  the  family. 

"I  will  leave  a  note  addressed  to  mother 
on  my  table,"  he  announced.  "It  will  ask 
forgiveness  and  tell  her  that  it  will  be  of  no 
use  to  try  to  find  me." 

"I  have  told  Mrs.  Bruce  I'm  going,"  re 
joined  Irving. 

"With  what  result?" 

"Oh,  she  did  n't  like  it.  She's  crazy  about 
it  here." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  returned  Robert 
triumphantly.  "There's  nothing  like  the  note 
on  the  dresser.  It  has  stood  the  test  of  ages." 

And  now  Irving  was  wasting  his  time  lying 
awake  and  watching  the  stealing  moonlight. 

"Coffee  never  affected  me  before,"  he  con 
sidered  impatiently;  then  he  sat  up  in  bed  and 
punched  the  unoffending  pillows  into  new 
shapes  and  flung  himself  down  on  them. 

He  hoped  she  was  not  awake  too.  He  lay 
quite  still  for  a  minute,  picturing  an  aureole 
of  golden  hair,  pillowed  in  a  shabby  room, 
and  stood  in  awe  a  minute  before  the  innocence 
of  that  childlike  face  in  slumber. 

192 


An  Exodus 


Then  he  suddenly  punched  his  pillow  again, 
wishing  it  were  the  head  of  one  who  would 
presently  waken  her  and  call  her  below  stairs 
to  run  patiently  at  the  bidding  of  folk  in  a 
ruffianly  early-morning  mood. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  in  the  moonlight. 
The  wonder  is  that  his  ireful  gaze  did  not  stop 
the  repeater  at  three  A.  M. 

His  window  commanded  the  mound  of  gey- 
serite  which  made  the  inn  famous.  He  leaped 
out  of  bed  on  a  chance  that  the  view  might 
break  the  monotony. 

Scarcely  had  he  reached  the  window  when, 
in  the  lonely  loveliness  of  the  night,  up  sprang 
the  geyser  —  lowly  at  first,  then  higher  and 
higher  —  like  a  thing  of  life,  leaping  toward 
the  moon,  scattering  myriad  diamonds  from 
its  banner  of  cloud.  No  artificial  light  now 
bathed  its  beauty.  No  crowd  of  humanity 
encircled  it  like  clustering  bees.  Alone  in  the 
silvery  light  it  mounted  and  mounted  under 
the  brooding  stars  that  knew  it  so  welL  They 
sparkled,  and  beckoned  to  the  beloved  cap 
tive,  who,  holding  herself  at  full  height,  could 
not  quite  reach  their  kisses,  but  sank  back  at 
last,  reflecting  their  brightness  in  her  tears  as 
she  vanished. 

193 


Clever  Betsy 


"And  Rosalie  weeps.  I  know  she  does," 
thought  Irving;  "and  I  won't  stay  to  see  it." 

He  jumped  back  into  bed.   i 

"It's  a  beastly  shame  that  I  can't  do  any 
thing  and  nobody  else  will.  Mr.  Derwent  says 
she's  a  relative,  and  then  goes  doddering 
around  and  lets  her  bring  him  his  coffee. 
When  he  gets  to  the  lake,  I  '11  have  a  few  words 
with  him,  Betsy  or  no  Betsy.  I  'm  just  waiting 
to  see  if  he  means  to  do  anything  of  his  own 
accord.  I  wonder  if  my  blood  will  run  as  cold 
as  that,  when  I'm  fifty.  One  thing  sure,  I 
shall  never  dare  to  fall  in  love,  if  just  a  mat 
ter  of  ordinary  humanity  can  stir  me  up  like 
this."  H 

The  whack  which  his  long-suffering  pillow 
received  as  punctuation  to  this  muttered 
speech  was  the  last  for  that  night.  The  phil 
anthropist  sank  to  slumber  and  wakened  with 
a  start  and  a  sensation  of  being  too  late  for 
something  important. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  just  half 
an  hour  to  stage  time. 

He  jumped  up,  dashed  some  cold  water 
over  his  head,  pulled  on  some  of  his  clothes, 
and  stuffed  the  rest  into  his  suit-case,  which 
closed  reluctantly  and  under  the  influence  of 

194 


An  Exodus 


muttered  incantations  such  as  may  proceed 
from  masculine  youth  in  the  anticipation  of 
a  stage-ride  of  twenty  miles  on  an  empty 
stomach. 

Irving  prided  himself  on  being  his  own  alarm- 
clock.  He  had  especially  requested  not  to  be 
called,  and  in  a  nettled  state  of  mind  he  finally 
pulled  open  his  door  and  nearly  tumbled  over 
Betsy,  seated  in  the  corridor.  Beside  her  on 
the  floor  reposed  a  tray.  Odorous  steam  was 
rising  from  a  brown  pot  thereon.  She  picked 
up  the  tray. 

"You've  got  ten  minutes,"  she  said  calmly. 
"Open  the  door." 

She  carried  her  fragrant  burden  into  the  bed 
room  and  set  it  on  the  table.  Irving  would 
have  followed  that  steam  anywhere.  He 
dropped  his  suit-case  and  drew  up  a  chair. 

"Good  fairy!"  he  exclaimed  as  she  filled 
his  cup  and  he  bit  deep  into  the  bread  and 
butter.  "Good  genius!  Betsy,  have  I  ever 
been  ungrateful  to  you?  This  ends  it!" 

She  sat  composedly,  her  watch  in  her  hand. 
"Do  chew  a  little,  Mr.  Irving." 

He  laughed.  "Sounds  natural,"  he  said, 
busily  devouring  and  drinking. 

"Time's  up." 

I9S 


Clever  Betsy 


He  knew  so  well  that  she  would  give  him 
the  limit,  that  he  rose  like  a  shot,  and  picked 
up  the  suit-case. 

"But  why,  Betsy,"  examining  her  as  they 
fled,  "why  are  you  hatted  and  suited  in  so 
finished  a  manner?" 

"Because  we're  goin'  with  you,"  replied 
Betsy  equably. 

"What?  Why?" 

"Because  Mrs.  Bruce  did  n't  sleep  any,  and 
neither  did  Mrs.  Nixon;  and  we're  all  goin'." 

There  was  no  further  time  for  talk.  Irving 
had  had  the  forethought  to  pay  his  bill  the 
night  before,  and  when  he  and  Betsy  stepped 
into  the  last  stage  it  had  all  the  familiar  ap 
pearance  of  previous  days  except  that  no 
waitress  was  shrinking  in  a  corner  like  a  violet 
striving  to  hide  beneath  its  leaves. 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Robert  cheerfully. 
"United  we  stand,  divided  we  fall.  We're 
all  going  fishing." 

"Irving,  come  here." 

Mrs.  Bruce  made  room  for  him  beside  her, 
and  the  stage  started.  She  was  pale,  and  had 
made  no  effort  to  get  the  driver's  seat,  where 
Miss  Maynard  and  Robert  had  climbed  at 
Mrs.  Nixon's  suggestion. 


An  Exodus 


"Let  some  one  sit  up  there  who  has  had  a 
wink  of  sleep,"  Mrs.  Bruce  had  said  sepul- 
chrally.  "If  I  owned  that  inn,  Irving  Bruce, 
I  would  sell  it  for  twenty-five  cents." 

"Well  well!"  responded  her  son,  so  fortified 
by  coffee  and  bread  and  butter,  eaten  where 
he  was  not  obliged  to  look  upon  a  captive 
maid,  that  he  could  smile.  "  I  thought  the  inn 
was  enchanting  you  into  remaining  all  sum 


mer." 


"H'm!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Bruce.  "It  may 
be  very  fascinating  by  day;  but  by  night  it  is 
Hades,  nothing  less  —  not  a  whit  less."  And 
the  speaker  shook  her  head  as  one  who  should 
say  that  hours  of  argument  would  not  per 
suade  her  to  abate  a  jot  of  her  denunciation. 
"Did  you  sleep  any,  Irving?" 

"Why  —  not  much.  I  think  it  must  have 
been  the  coffee.  You  overdid  it  too,  eh?" 

"Coffee!"  Mrs.  Bruce  glared  palely  at  the 
suggestion.  "There  were  two  men  in  the  room 
next  to  us.  Logs  between  —  nothing  [but  logs. 
Irving,  would  n't  anybody  with  any  sense  or 
forethought  have  cemented  between  those 
logs?" 

"So  picturesque,"  murmured  Irving. 

"Don't  let  me  ever  hear  the  word  again," 
197 


Clever  Betsy 


gasped  Mrs.  Bruce.  "They  said  it  all  night. 
Didn't  they,  Betsy?" 

"You  said  so,  ma'am." 

"That's  it.  I  kept  asking  Betsy  if  she  was 
awake.  Did  n't  I,  Betsy?" 

"Yes'm." 

"And  she  knows  how  they  talked.  They 
went  out  every  hour  —  every  hour,  all  night, 
Irving."  Mrs.  Bruce  made  the  repetition  with 
an  impressiveness  mere  print  is  powerless  to 
convey.  "Went  to  see  the  geysers  and  then 
slammed  back  into  their  room  to  talk  about 
them.  Oh!!" 

"Too  bad,  Madama!  You're  quite  tired 
out.  Now  just  rest  a  while.  Don't  trouble  to 
talk." 

"And  the  radiator,  Irving."  Mrs.  Bruce 
had  not  yet  relieved  her  mind.  "It  cracked 
all  night.  The  apparatus  must  be  put  in 
wrong.  I  called  Betsy's  attention  to  it  several 
times.  She'll  remember." 

Miss  Foster  looked  as  if  the  memory  of  the 
night  was  liable  to  remain  for  some  time  as 
green  as  the  room  Mrs.  Bruce  had  waked  in. 

"The  hotel  should  be  thoroughly  done  over," 
declared  Mrs.  Bruce,  "the  walls  chinked  with 
cement  and  the  steampipes  looked  to,  or  else 

198 


An  Exodus 


in  common  honesty  a  placard  should  be  nailed 
up,  reading:  'For  show  only!'  If  ever  I  was 
grateful  for  anything,  it  is  that  you  had  planned 
to  go  this  morning,  anyway.  I  should  n't  have 
had  the  force  to  argue  or  persuade  you." 

Irving  thought  of  his  own  nocturnal  per 
ambulations,  and  turned  toward  the  seat 
behind,  where  Mrs.  Nixon  was  seated  with  her 
brother. 

Her  countenance  wore  a  forbidding  ex 
pression. 

"Were  you  unfortunate  also?"  he  asked. 

"Really,  Mr.  Bruce,"  she  replied  with  de 
liberate  distinctness,  "I  should  not  expect  it 
to  be  a  matter  of  general  interest  if  I  had  been. 
Perhaps  you  remember  what  Emerson  says 
apropos  of  retailing  woes  of  that  character 
to  one's  morning  companions.  I  quite  agree 
with  him." 

Having  thus  delivered  herself,  the  lady's 
lips  closed  in  the  curves  of  beauty  which 
nature  had  bestowed  upon  them,  and  she 
again  gave  her  attention  to  the  landscape. 

Mrs.  Bruce  made  a  grimace  as  she  met  her 
son's  amused  eyes. 

"Now,"  she  thought,  "I  suppose  she  thinks 
she  is  even  with  me  for  last  evening." 

199 


Clever  Betsy 


Mr.  Derwent,  unconscious  of  injuring  his 
sister's  effect,  addressed  Mrs.  Nixon. 

"You  look  done  up,  Marion.  I  am  sorry  you 
passed  such  a  disturbed  night." 

Mrs.  Bruce  pressed  Irving's  arm  and  gave 
him  a  malicious  side  glance. 

"You  should  all  be  equipped  like  myself 
for  traveling,"  continued  Mr.  Derwent  rather 
grimly,  "and  take  off  your  ear  when  you  go 
to  bed." 

"Poor  gentleman,"  thought  Betsy.  "How 
gladly  he  would  lie  awake  to  hear  his  neigh 
bors,  and  if  he  could  listen  to  the  radiators 
snap,  it  would  be  music  to  him,  I've  no 
doubt." 

She  glanced  around  at  him.  He  had  his 
hands  crossed  on  the  head  of  his  stick  in  his 
usual  posture. 

"I  wonder  if  I'll  ever  dare  talk  to  him!  He 
looked  so  kind  at  Rosalie  yesterday.  If  the 
fish  bite  good,  perhaps  Mr.  Irving '11  forget 
her.  Here's  hopin'  they  will!  I  meant  to  have 
a  real  good  visit  with  the  child  to-day.  I  must 
send  her  a  card  when  we  stop  for  lunch." 

At  the  Thumb,  Betsy  had  a  chance  to  do 
this. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Bruce  discovered  that  they 
200 


An  Exodus 


might  make  the  remainder  of  their  trip  by 
water,  she  urged  it. 

"I  would  just  as  lief  go  separately  from 
Mrs.  Nixon,"  she  said  to  her  son,  "until  she 
has  had  a  night's  sleep.  Find  out,  Irving, 
whether  they're  going  by  boat." 

It  proved  that  all  the  places  on  the  boat 
had  been  engaged,  and  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Bruce 
discovered  this,  her  desire  to  proceed  in  that 
way  was  augmented;  and  many  were  the 
alterations  she  suggested  in  a  management 
which  contained  possibilities  of  such  poignant 
disappointment  as  hers. 

Mrs.  Nixon  preserved  a  magnificent  silence; 
but  looked  graciously  upon  her  child,  whose 
sallies  appeared  to  have  amused  Miss  Maynard 
out  of  her  habitual  demureness. 

"They  seem  to  get  on  very  well  together," 
she  remarked  to  her  brother  at  a  moment 
when  they  were  alone. 

He  nodded.  "Helen  dares  be  a  girl  again," 
he  announced.  "There  is  a  great  weight  off 
her  mind.  Her  cheeks  seem  to  have  grown 
plump  over  night." 


CHAPTER  XVI 


BETSY'S  GIFT 


THE  Colonial  Hotel  that  evening  looked  such 
a  haven  of  rest  to  tired  wanderers,  that  as 
soon  as  it  was  settled  that  they  could  get  rooms 
Mrs.  Nixon  and  Mrs.  Bruce  were  able  to 
smile  on  each  other  again. 

The  mountain  lake  lay  calm  in  the  waning 
light,  and  strings  of  fish  being  brought  in 
caused  excitement  among  the  men. 

"One  thing  you  must  do,  Irving,"  said  Mrs. 
Bruce,  looking  graciously  upon  Helen,  "is  to 
take  Miss  Maynard  to  that  place  where  you 
stand  on  shore  and  catch  trout,  and  then 
whisk  it  right  over  into  a  boiling  spring  and 
cook  it  before  you  take  it  off  the  hook." 

"Miss  Maynard  has  only  to  command  me," 
rejoined  Irving. 

"I  am  going  fishing  with  Mr.  Derwent," 
said  Helen.  So  subtle  were  the  changes  in  the 
mental  atmosphere  of  the  last  few  days,  so 
complete  the  step  from  subserviency  to 
dominance,  that  any  exhibition  of  coquetry 
with  the  two  young  men  would  have  been 

202 


Betsy's  Gift 


considered  legitimate  by  their  natural  guard 
ians.  It  was  the  absence  of  all  archness  in  the 
girl  that  concerned  Mrs.  Nixon,  and  the  quiet 
declaration  just  made  disturbed  her. 

She  secured  her  son's  attention. 

"You  surely  won't  oblige  your  uncle  Henry 
to  act  as  cavalier  to  a  young  girl,"  she  said. 

"What?"  asked  Robert.  "Oh,  you  mean 
the  fishing."  He  laughed  with  a  mischievous 
flash  of  the  eyes  which  brought  color  into  his 
mother's  cheeks.  "Afraid  she'll  fish  for  him 
as  well  as  with  him,  eh  ?  Well,  I  think  perhaps 
you  have  raison" 

"Robert,  why  are  you  such  a  tease?  I  wish 
you  would  choose  a  time  when  I  am  not  so 
nervous  and  tired.  I've  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing,  foolish  boy!" 

"I  told  you  to  count  ten  before  you  asked 
her  to  live  with  us." 

"Don't  you  like  her,  dear?" 

:'Yes,  I  think  she's  good  stuff;  but  —  you 
know  what  I  told  you.  If  she  comes  to  live 
with  us,  she'll  run  the  ranch.  You  hear  me. 
I  don't  care  to  have  anybody  pull  my  wires. 
When  I  hop,  I  want  it  to  be  from  my  own  pure 
lightness  of  heart." 

Mrs.  Nixon  looked  thoughtful.  "I  intend 
203 


Clever  Betsy 


to  count  ten,  Robert.  I  told  you  that  a  month 
at  the  Fairport  Inn  would  reveal  a  great  deal." 

"I  think  it  will,"  agreed  Robert  dryly. 

"Meanwhile,"  continued  Mrs.  Nixon  with 
some  asperity,  "you  can  either  leave  her 
entirely  to  Irving  Bruce  or  you  can  do  your 
part  toward  entertaining  her." 

Robert  threw  an  arm  around  his  mother's 
shoulders  and  gave  her  a  squeeze  which 
ruffled  her  dignity  into  a  heap. 

"You're  no  wire-puller,  honey,"  he  said. 
"Better  leave  it  alone." 

Mrs.  Nixon  wriggled  herself  free. 

"Mrs.  Bruce  is  so  conceited  about  her  step 
son,"  she  said  warmly,  "that  I  really  have 
some  feeling  about  it,  Robert.  I  confess  it 
frankly." 

"Well,  mamma  dear,  they  should  n't  tease 
her!  As  I've  spent  the  whole  day  with  Miss 
Maynard,  you  should  be  satisfied  with  the 
proof  of  your  son's  fascinations.  She  might 
have  dived  off  the  driver's  seat  into  Brute's 
arms,  and  she  did  n't  do  it.  Be  comforted." 

"I  know  Mrs.  Bruce  will  make  Irving  take 
her  to  see  the  bears  after  supper.  You  watch! 
And  you  might  just  as  well  do  it  yourself." 

"Oh  no,"  Robert  shook  his  head.  "I'd 
204 


Betsy's  Gift 


rather  be  free  to  climb  a  tree.  Speaking  of 
supper,  come;  and  talk  loudly,  please,  while 
I  take  my  first  mouthful,  so  the  guests  won't 
hear  it  fall." 

Mrs.  Nixon  sighed  and  went  with  him. 

When  the  party  rose  from  the  table  there 
was  a  general  movement  to  the  back  of  the 
hotel  to  view  the  bears. 

Mrs.  Bruce,  quite  restored  by  supper  and 
the  prospect  of  a  night's  rest,  held  Betsy's  arm 
as  a  sign  to  Irving  that  he  was  at  liberty. 

He  and  Robert  sauntered  on  together,  talk 
ing  of  the  morrow's  fishing,  and  the  others 
followed. 

Mr.  Derwent  was  thoughtful.  His  sister 
leaned  on  his  arm  and  Helen  walked  on  his 
other  side. 

" So  you  were  at  school  with  Miss  Vincent?" 
he  said. 

:'Yes;  a  short  time.  It  seems  Mrs.  Bruce 
gave  her  a  short  course." 

The  girl's  tone  was  cool;  but  Mrs.  Nixon 
noted,  as  she  had  done  before,  the  cleverness 
with  which  she  conveyed  her  distinct  words, 
and  the  ease  with  which  her  brother  under 
stood. 

"Did  n't  you  like  her  very  much?" 
205 


Clever  Betsy 


"No,  not  especially.  I  had  no  occasion  to 
know  her  well." 

"H'm!  She  seemed  to  me  so  appealing. 
Very  modest  and  engaging." 

"I  dare  say  she  is,"  returned  Helen  care 
lessly.  "  Oh,  there!  See?  That  black  bear 
and  her  cubs!" 

For  the  following  fifteen  minutes  the  party 
watched  the  bears.  They  heard  the  mother 
give  the  cubs  warning  under  suspicion  of  a 
cinnamon  bear's  approach,  and  saw  the  babies 
scamper  fleetly  up  a  tree,  followed  by  mamma ; 
then,  presently  reassured,  the  whole  family 
came  down  and  proceeded  with  their  meal. 

Wires  were  stretched  to  prevent  the  human 
guests  from  trespassing  beyond  certain  limits, 
and  soldiers  were  on  duty,  for  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  the  animals  are  not  tame,  and  the 
curious  would  approach  them. 

While  the  party  watched,  the  cinnamon  bear 
did  appear,  headed  for  the  garbage-heap,  and 
the  house  of  black  bear  took  to  the  woods  in  a 
body.  Then  came  a  grizzly,  and  the  conquer 
ing  cinnamon  unostentatiously  disappeared. 

"It  is  very  interesting,"  wailed  Mrs.  Bruce, 
"but  why  don't  the  management  provide 
clothespins  for  the~guests'  noses?" 

206 


Betsy's  Gift 


Robert  had  gravitated  to  Helen's  side. 

"When  we  get  across  the  Styx,"  he  mur 
mured,  "I'm  going  to  follow  that  woman  up. 
I  'm  as  sure  as  if  I  'd  seen  it,  that  her  halo  won't 
fit." 

"And  Mr.  Bruce  is  so  nice  to  her!"  said 
Helen. 

There  was  gayety  that  night  in  the  hotel 
office.  An  orchestra  played,  and  there  was 
dancing.  Both  the  young  men  danced  with 
Helen,  then  Irving  wandered  off  to  see  about 
fishing-tackle,  and  Robert  floated  on  with  the 
girl,  whose  cheeks  glowed. 

"How  well  they  dance  together!"  said  Mrs. 
Nixon  to  Mrs.  Bruce  complacently. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  latter.  "Mr.  Nixon 
being  shorter  is  a  better  height  for  her  than 
Irving." 

"Robert  is  quite  tall  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Nixon. 

"Yes,  for  Miss  Maynard,"  returned  Mrs. 
Bruce. 

Neither  of  them  had  slept  as  yet,  and  their 
sitting  together  at  all  had  a  savor  of  reckless 
daring. 

Betsy  was  deeply  engaged  at  the  counter 
where  pictures  and  postal-cards  were  sold. 

207 


Clever  Betsy 


"I  don't  know,"  she  thought,  "as  it  would 
be  anything  out  of  the  way  if  I  should  get 
that  whole  set  o'  postal  cards  and  send  'em 
to  Hiram.  Poor  soul,  he  can't  travel  any,  and 
they'd  sort  o'  illustrate  my  talk  if  I  ever  told 
him  anything  about  the  trip." 

As  she  meditated  thus,  Betsy's  slow  color 
rose,  for  her  New  England  conscience  re 
marked  rather  tartly  that  this  plan  for  giving 
pleasure  to  her  patient  admirer  was  not  with 
out  ulterior  motives,  and  pretense  was  useless. 

"Don't  I  know,"  she  mused  defensively, 
"  that  it  would  just  make  Hiram's  life  over 
to  have  the  child  in  his  house?  Old  Mrs. 
Bachelder  would  like  nothin'  better  than  to 
move  all  her  traps  over  instead  of  comin'  by 
the  day." 

All  of  which  goes  to  show  that  Clever  Betsy's 
wits  were  still  busy  with  Rosalie's  problem,  and 
that  she  desired  to  settle  it  without  commit 
ting  herself  to  a  surrender  to  the  able  seaman. 

"As  for  postal  cards,  I  guess  I  would  n't 
have  grudged  Hiram  that  much  pleasure  if 
Rosalie  Vincent  had  never  come  to  the  Yel 
lowstone;  and  he  and  I  —  I  mean  he  and 
Rosalie  can  enjoy  lookin'  at  'em  evenin's." 

Upon  which,  with  conscious  innocence  and 
208 


Betsy 's  Gift 


a  withering  disregard  of  the  presumptuous 
inner  voice,  Betsy  put  down  her  money  and 
took  the  set  of  cards  in  its  neat  case. 

As  she  did  so,  Mr.  Derwent  sauntered  up 
to  the  stand;  the  smile  which  always  rested 
more  in  his  eyes  than  on  his  lips  was  evident 
as  he  noticed  Betsy's  concentrated  interest. 

"Finding  some  pretty  things?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded  vigorously.  Mr.  Derwent  would 
have  been  surprised  to  know  how  constantly 
his  image  had  held  possession  of  this  woman's 
thoughts  since  yesterday  afternoon. 

Hiram  Salter  was  a  bird  in  the  bush,  and 
no  matter  how  wary,  Betsy  felt  that  she  could 
lure  him  —  yes,  upstart  conscience,  even 
without  the  aid  of  postal  cards !  —  to  come  to 
her  and  eat  out  of  her  hand;  but  Mr.  Derwent 
was  the  bird  already  in  that  hand  so  far  as 
physical  neighborhood  was  concerned.  She 
had  wondered  through  many  hours  how  she 
could  compass  a  conversation  with  the  deaf 
gentleman  which  others  should  not  overhear. 

Betsy  looked  wildly  around  for  a  likely  spot 
for  a  vociferous  tete-a-tete.  There  was  a 
corridor  which  ran  out  of  the  large  office  in 
each  direction,  and  from  which  opened  the 
first-floor  bedrooms. 

209 


Clever  Betsy 


Would  the  elegant  Mr.  Derwent  think  she 
was  quite  mad  if  she  endeavored  to  lead  him 
down  one  of  these,  and  was  there  a  chance  of 
her  accomplishing  the  move  without  the  ob 
servation  of  the  two  tabby-cats?  Yes,  as  a 
truthful  biographer  I  must  admit  that  this  was 
the  title  bestowed  by  Rosalie's  champion 
upon  two  complacent  ladies  since  the  playing 
of  the  Riverside  Geyser  yesterday  afternoon. 

Mr.  Derwent's  voice  interrupted  her  swift 
thoughts. 

"What  have  you  been  finding  that  is  pretty? 
Is  there  anything  here  I  ought  to  get?" 

Betsy  repeated  her  vigorous  nodding  and 
addressed  the  saleswoman. 

"Let  me  see  that  water-color  of  the  canyon 
again,  please." 

"A  water-color,  eh?"  said  Mr.  Derwent; 
then  as  Betsy  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  he 
smiled  again. 

"These  capricious  ears  of  mine  like  a  racket," 
he  said.  "The  more  the  orchestra  and  the 
clatter  of  voices  and  feet  deafen  you,  the  more 
they  make  me  hear.  That's  pretty,  that's 
very  pretty." 

The  clerk  had  produced  the  picture,  and  Mr. 
Derwent  gazed  upon  the  waterfall,  the  spray 

210 


Betsy's  Gift 


dashing  up  its  golden  cliffs;  and  Betsy  gazed 
eagerly  at  him.  He  could  hear  her.  That  was 
more  exciting  than  the  prospect  of  seeing  on 
the  morrow  this  climax  of  beauty  in  the  great 
Park. 

"We  ought  not  to  have  looked  at  this  until 
after  we  had  visited  the  canyon,"  suggested 
Mr.  Derwent.  "Paint  is  cheap,  and  disap 
pointments  are  bitter." 

"The  picture's  just  beautiful,  though," 
said  Betsy. 

"And  not  a  bit  too  bright,"  declared  the 
clerk.  "There  could  n't  any  picture  do  jus 
tice  to  it." 

"You  like  it,  do  you,  Miss  Foster?  Did  you 
buy  one?" 

"No,  sir.  I  Ve  got  a  postal  of  it,  though,  in 
this  set  of  cards." 

"I  will  take  this,"  said  Mr.  Derwent  to  the 
clerk,  passing  her  the  water-color. 

While  the  picture  was  being  put  into  its 
envelope,  and  the  clerk  was  making  the  change, 
Betsy's  wits  were  working  fast.  How,  how  to 
make  the  most  of  this  golden  opportunity! 
She  shrank  from  the  appearance  of  begging 
even  for  the  winning  girl  she  had  left  behind 
her.  It  did  not  help  matters  nor  lessen  her 

211 


Clever  Betsy 


embarrassment  to  have  her  companion  hand 
her  the  envelope  containing  the  water-color. 

"With  my  compliments,  Miss  Foster,"  he 
said  with  a  bow. 

"For  me!"  burst  forth  Betsy,  flushing  under 
her  mingled  emotions. 

"A  souvenir,"  he  returned.  "It  is  really 
pretty." 

"Oh,  it's  a  gem,  and  I  do  thank  you!"  ex 
claimed  Betsy.  "Oh  dear,  how  can  I  now!" 
was  her  mental  moan.  "It's  exactly  like 
sayin'  one  good  turn  deserves  another.  I  hate 
to  be  those  kind  o'  folks  that  give  'em  an  inch 
and  they'll  take  an  ell." 

While  she  hesitated,  fearing  every  moment 
that  the  prize  would  turn  and  saunter  back 
to  his  people,  Mr.  Derwent  lingered. 

"  I  have  been  very  glad,"  he  said,  regarding 
Betsy's  narrow,  excited  face,  "of  your  kind 
ness  to  the  little  Miss  Vincent." 

Now  Rosalie  was  not  little.  She  was  an 
upstanding  daughter  of  the  gods,  meriting 
their  trite  description;  and  the  adjective 
warmed  Betsy's  heart  and  filled  her  with 
courage.  That,  and  the  tone  of  the  words, 
gave  her  a  welcome  cue.  She  looked  wistfully 
into  the  kind  eyes. 

212 


Betsy's  Gift 


"It's  one  o'  the  hardest  things  I've  ever 
done  to  leave  Rosalie  at  that  inn,"  she  said. 

"I  didn't  like  it  either,"  responded  her 
companion  quietly.  "Let  us  come  over  in 
this  corner  and  talk  a  bit." 

Betsy  followed,  an .  inward  paean  of  thanks 
giving  going  up  from  her  good  heart. 

Irving  was  still  talking  fishing-tackle  at  a 
desk  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  office.  Miss 
Maynard  was  frisking  in  a  two-step  with 
Robert,  and  the  two  mothers  chaperoned  her 
gravely  and  with  increasing  sleepiness,  while 
the  orchestra  rang  its  rhythmic  changes. 
Betsy,  standing  a  little  at  one  side  of  the  crowd, 
told  again  the  story  of  Rosalie's  life  to  an 
attentive  listener,  who  in  his  turn  recounted 
to  her  certain  circumstances  of  the  Vincent 
losses. 

"And  it  has  come  to  this,  has  it,"  said  Mr. 
Derwent,  "that  this  young  girl  has  n't  a  friend 
in  the  world  except  you  and  me?" 

"That's  it,"  responded  Betsy  promptly. 
"That  is — "  she  added  hurriedly  —  "we're 
the  only  safe  ones  she's  got." 

"How 'is  that?"  Mr.  Derwent  smiled  len 
iently.  "A  lover?  I  shouldn't  wonder  at 
that." 

213 


Clever  Betsy 


"Oh,  no,  not  a  lover.  I  should  hope  not! 
Good  gracious!" 

Betsy's  manner  and  precipitate  speech 
made  Mr.  Derwent  smile  again. 

"You  don't  mean  that  big  boy  in  our  stage 
with  two  mothers,  neither  of  whom  owns 
him?" 

Betsy's  wandering  eyes  looked  so  desper 
ately  embarrassed  that  the  speaker  could  not 
forbear  pressing  her  a  little. 

"Two  mothers;  one  of  whom  he  loves  and 
one  who  loves  him." 

Miss  Foster  started.  "Oh,  Mr.  Derwent," 
she  gasped,  and  now  her  eyes  met  his  in  fright. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "whoever  it  is,  I 
think  we  shall  be  equal  to  the  case  without 
his  help.  They  tell  me  you're  called  Clever 
Betsy.  Now  let's  see  whether  you're  well- 
named.  Let's  talk  ways  and  means  a  little." 

And  Betsy  did  talk:  talk  as  she  had  seldom 
done  since  Irving's  mother  went  to  sleep  one 
night  in  her  arms. 

She  told  Mr.  Derwent  of  a  friend  of  her 
childhood,  one  Hiram  Salter,  and  laid  bare  her 
designs  on  that  mariner's  hearth  and  home. 

Mr.  Derwent  listened,  nodding  sometimes, 
and  when  she  had  finished,  he  spoke. 

214 


Betsy 's  Gift 


"And  this  talent  of  Rosalie's,  —  this  elo 
cutionary  business  ?  Would  there  be  any  field 
for  her  perhaps  in  Fairport,  as  a  teacher?" 

Betsy  looked  dubious.  "Maybe.  It's  a 
pretty  well-to-do  village  all  times  o'  year;  but 
that  could  come  afterward.  If  I  just  once 
knew  she  was  safe  in  a  home!  She  could  likely 
get  into  a  school  somewhere  later." 

"Well-to-do,  you  say,"  repeated  Mr.  Der- 
went  thoughtfully.  "Do  the  people  there 
entertain?  Parlor  entertainments  pay  pretty 
well." 

"No,"  replied  Betsy  slowly,  fixing  her  interlo 
cutor  with  a  gaze  which  little  by  little  seemed  to 
see  beyond  him.  "  Folks  there  would  n't  think 
they  could  —  spend  money  —  that  way — " 

Her  voice  trailed  off  and  there  was  a  silent 
space,  while  Mr.  Derwent  wondered  at  her 
altered  expression.  Suddenly  her  gaze  focused 
on  him  again  and  her  hard  hands  clasped  the 
water-color  against  her  breast.  "Mr.  Der 
went,  I've  got  an  idea!"  she  said  in  a  changed 
tone. 

"Of  course  you  have,"  he  replied  encour 
agingly.  "It's  a  peculiarity  of  clever  people." 

"Let  me  tell  you  what  I've  thought;"  and 
Betsy  proceeded  to  do  so  with  eagerness. 

215 


Clever  Betsy 


"I  believe  it  would  work,"  returned  Mr. 
Derwent  thoughtfully,  when  she  had  finished. 
"Follow  that  up,  Betsy.  May  I  call  you 
Betsy?" 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Derwent.  I  ain't  anything 
else;  and  if  you  knew  how  I  felt  towards  you 
for  befriendin'  Rosalie,  you'd  know  that  you 
might  call  me  anything."  Bright  tears  glis 
tened  in  the  good  gray  eyes. 

"The  first  thing  to  do,  then,  is  to  write 
Rosalie  a  letter.  Come,  we'll  do  it  now,"  he 
answered.  "  I  must  talk  with  her.  We  will 
have  her  come  to  the  canyon." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SUNRISE 

ON  the  following  morning  there  was  a  reac 
tion  of  good  spirits  in  all  the  party. 

The  men  went  out  early  on  the  lake,  and  the 
ladies  were  enthusiastic  over  the  trout  they 
ate  for  breakfast  in  consequence.  Harmless 
jests  passed  between  the  mothers;  Helen  May- 
nard  lost  somewhat  of  her  reserve,  and  as  for 
Betsy,  her  narrow  face  beamed  upon  every 
thing  and  everybody  indiscriminately  as  the 
party  journeyed  onward  to  the  Canyon  Hotel. 

After  luncheon  they  all  drove  to  Inspiration 
Point,  and  looked  upon  the  Grand  Canyon,  the 
sight  of  whose  beauty  is  an  epoch-making  ex 
perience  in  the  life  of  the  most  blase. 

The  Grand  Canyon  in  Arizona  is  larger, 
grander  than  perhaps  any  of  the  world's 
physical  wonders;  but  it  is  too  colossal  to  be 
grasped.  Its  very  distances  are  so  vast  that 
a  bluish  veil  seems  hung  before  its  battlements 
and  minarets,  while  its  river,  a  mile  below, 
might  as  well  be  cotton  wool  lying  stationary 
in  the  depths.  One  sees  without  believing,  and 

217 


Clever  Betsy 


gasps  without  grasping.   There  is  as  much  of 
awe  as  of  joy  in  beholding  the  Arizona  wonder. 

But  in  the  Yellowstone  lies  a  n  elation  of 
beauty  which  bathes  the  soul  in  a  dream 
of  loveliness,  so  surpassing,  so  overwhelming, 
that  it  is  inconceivable  that  one  could  receive 
more  into  the  ecstatic  consciousness.  Majesty 
it  has  and  impressive  vastness;  but  not  more 
than  can  rejoice  the  eye  and  thrill  the  heart. 

When  finally  the  party  were  returning  to 
the  hotel  for  dinner,  Irving  turned  a  grave 
face  upon  Betsy's  glowing  countenance. 

"You  don't  seem  to  have  anything  on  your 
mind,"  he  said. 

"Not  a  thing,"  she  rejoined  promptly. 

"  I  wish  I  could  wash  my  hands  of  the  affair 
as  easily,"  he  said  crushingly. 

"Mr.  Irving,"  a  smile  rippled  over  Betsy's 
thin  lips,  "  I  have  n't  had  a  chance  to  tell  you 
that  I  talked  with  Mr.  Derwent  last  night." 

"You  did,  eh?"  The  young  man's  face 
changed  to  alert  attention. 

"He  feels  just  the  way  we  do.  It's  goin'  to 
be  all  right." 

"Jubilate!"  ejaculated  Irving.    "How?" 

"Oh,  I  can't  tell  you  now.  You  go  right  on 
trustin'  me  —  or  rather  you'd  better  begin!" 

218 


Sunrise 


"You're  a  good  soul,  Clever  Betsy!  When 
does  she  stop?" 

"As  soon  as  it's  right." 

Irving  uttered  an  exclamation  of  impatience. 

"Don't  show  your  ignorance  o'  business 
methods,"  said  Betsy  smiling.  "You  go  on 
with  your  fishin'.  Everything's  goin'  to  be  all 
right,  and  I'll  tell  you  about  it  later." 

Thus  reassured,  Irving  obeyed.  He  went  on 
fishing;  he  tramped  to  Artist's  Point  with  Miss 
Maynard,  Nixie,  and  Mr.  Derwent,  and  at 
night  went  to  his  rest  without  having  cross- 
examined  Betsy  further. 

He  knew  every  shade  of  expression  in  her 
good,  immobile  face,  and  satisfaction  was  too 
clearly  writ  upon  it  for  him  to  doubt  that  all 
was  well.  Let  her  have  her  little  mystery,  if 
she  derived  enjoyment  from  it.  Of  course  all 
Irving  cared  for  was  to  know  that  Rosalie 
was  properly  looked  after,  —  the  details  were 
really  immaterial. 

Toward  the  following  morning  he  found 
himself  on  the  shore  of  the  Firehole  River, 
again  waiting  for  the  Riverside  Geyser  to  play. 
As  the  water  began  to  spout,  he  suddenly 
noticed  that  Rosalie  Vincent  was  in  a  canoe 
in  the  middle  of  the  river,  just  in  the  path  of 

219 


Clever  Betsy 


the  irresistible  liquid  catapult.  He  flung  off 
his  coat  preparatory  to  jumping  into  the  water, 
and  at  the  same  time  shouted  her  name 
repeatedly. 

A  mixture  of  sheepishness  and  relief  greeted 
his  sudden  view  of  the  ceiling  of  his  bedroom. 
His  own  voice  rang  in  his  ears.  He  glanced 
at  the  window.  Streaks  of  light  were  showing 
in  the  sky.  An  idea  occurred  to  him. 

"I  shall  never  have  such  another  chance," 
he  thought.  In  fifteen  minutes  more  he  was 
dressed  and  stealing  like  a  burglar  down  the 
corridor  and  out  the  door  of  the  hotel. 

The  sky  was  brightening  fast,  and  he  started 
on  a  jog-trot  in  the  direction  of  the  canyon. 

The  stillness,  the  loveliness  of  that  morning, 
—  the  only  sounds  those  of  Nature  undis 
turbed  and  uninterrupted!  What  fine  exhila 
ration  was  in  the  air !  Had  no  reward  followed 
that  run  over  the  mountain  road,  Irving  Bruce 
would  have  remembered  it  all  his  days  as 
unique  in  rare  enjoyment;  but  when  at  last 
he  passed  out  from  the  shadows  and  stood 
upon  a  vantage-point  commanding  the  superb 
gorge,  what  words  can  describe  the  grandeur 
of  the  pageant,  as  the  rising  sun  brightened  the 
flaming  walls  of  the  canyon,  and  whitened  the 

220 


Sunrise 


tempestuous  water  which  paused  on  an  awful 
brink  before  thundering  into  the  deeps  below, 
—  a  compact  mass  of  shimmering  silver  foam ! 

A  strange  ecstasy  forced  moisture  into  the 
watcher's  eyes;  but  suddenly  as  his  glance 
swept  down  the  cliff  his  heart  seemed  to  stop 
beating.  On  a  jutting  rock  below  him  a  wo 
man  was  standing.  She  wore  a  white  gown 
and  was  bareheaded.  While  he  looked  she 
seemed  to  become  terror-stricken,  and  retreat 
ing,  her  back  to  the  falls,  clung  to  the  hoary 
rock  like  a  frightened  dove. 

As  in  his  dream  Irving  shouted,  "Rosalie! 
Rosalie!"  but  the  mad  roar  of  water  fortu 
nately  drowned  his  voice  as  he  plunged  down 
the  path  that  led  to  the  jutting  rock. 

If  the  girl  should  faint  or  fall,  there  was 
nothing  to  prevent  her  slipping  over  the  edge 
and  rolling  into  the  awful  chasm,  and  it  seemed 
to  the  man  an  eternity  before  he  scrambled 
to  a  foothold  beside  her  and  seized  the  white 
gown.  She  lifted  dilated  eyes  to  his  face,  then 
gave  a  smile  of  heavenly  relief  and  sank  into 
the  arms  that  clasped  her. 

He  scowled  down  while  he  held  her  close. 

"Are  you  crazy?"  he  demanded. 

"Oh!"  was  all  she  could  breathe. 
221 


Clever  Betsy 


"Don't  you  faint!"  he  exclaimed  again, 
as  ferociously  as  before. 

"No  —  I  won't,"  she  murmured.  She  was 
very  white  as  she  pushed  herself  from  him. 

He  clasped  her  hand  tightly. 

"Don't  look  down.  Put  your  foot  there." 
He  indicated  a  spot  with  his  own  foot  and 
stepped  ahead  of  her. 

Thus,  little  by  little,  he  led  her  upon  the 
steep  trail,  and  they  climbed  to  the  upper 
ground. 

"That  was  a  crazy  thing  to  do!"  repeated 
the  man  when  they  stood  in  safety. 

"The  water  —  drew  me,"  she  answered 
faintly. 

She  was  more  than  ever  like  a  nymph,  her 
eyes  appealing  in  her  white  face  under  the 
gold  of  her  hair. 

"Are  n't  you  cold  ?  Where  are  your  wraps  ? " 
viewing  her  white  dress. 

She  looked  about  helplessly.  "I  had  a 
sweater.  I  must  have  dropped  it  somewhere. 
No,  oh  no,  Mr.  Bruce; "  for  Irving  was  taking 
off  his  coat. 

"Nonsense!  Of  course  I  shall.  How  many 
layers  do  you  suppose  I  need?  See  my  sweater- 
vest?"  He  put  her  arms  in  his  coat-sleeves 

222 


Sunrise 


and  buttoned  it  close  to  her  throat.  "I'm 
glowing.  I  ran  all  the  way." 

"How  wonderful  that  you  came!"  She  said 
it  very  quietly,  apparently  still  under  the  spell 
of  her  moment  of  panic. 

He  kept  his  eyes  upon  her.  "I  dreamed 
about  you.  I  dreamed  that  you  were  in 
danger." 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Is  that  why 
you  came?" 

"Perhaps.  Who  can  tell?"  His  face  had 
cleared,  and  he  looked  into  hers,  so  still  and 
lovely  above  the  rough  coat.  "I  am  very 
angry  with  you,  Rosalie." 

"Oh  no,  you  can't  be.  It  looked  very  easy. 
See." 

From  where  they  stood,  the  jutting  rock 
below  did  look  ample  and  tempting. 

"  But  I  'm  sorry  I  frightened  you,"  she  added, 
and  looked  up  at  him  with  an  enchanting 
smile. 

The  new  day  had  begun.  The  solemn  pines 
towered  above  them.  On  a  crag  below  clung 
an  eagle's  nest,  and  the  parent  birds  circled 
and  soared  above  the  emerald-green  river, 
returning  to  the  young  with  food. 

"It  seems,"  said  the  man  slowly,  "as  if  we 
223 


Clever  Betsy 


were    alone    in    this    stupendously    beautiful 
world." 

"My  head  went  round  and  round,"  she 
returned  dreamily.  "I  wonder  how  long  I 
could  have  held  there." 

He  shuddered.  "Did  life  suddenly  seem  well 
worth  living?"  he  asked. 

"Yes  indeed,"  she  returned.  "It  seemed 
that,  yesterday.  A  wonderful  thing  has  hap 
pened  to  me.  I'm  not  a  heaver  any  more." 

"Tell  me  all  about  it.  When  did  you  come? 
What  does  it  mean  to  find  you  here  at  dawn 
as  if  you  had  rained  from  the  skies?" 

"Mr.  Derwent  doesn't  want  me  to  stay 
in  the  Park.  He  thinks  there  is  other  work  I 
can  do.  He  cared  a  great  deal  for  my  father, 
and  for  his  sake  he  will  take  care  of  me  and 
guide  me,  he  says,  if  I  will  be  obedient."  The 
speaker  lifted  her  eyes  again  to  those  which 
studied  her.  "It's  easy  to  be  obedient  to 
pleasant  orders,  isn't  it?  He  wants  to  send 
me  right  back  to  Boston." 

She  paused,  and  Irving  nodded  with  satis 
faction. 

"I  quite  understand,"  she  went  on  quietly, 
"why  he  wishes  me  to  go  a  little  ahead  of  your 
party."  Irving  frowned. 

224 


Sunrise 


"It's  all  right.  I  have  felt  very  much  hu 
miliated — "  she  went  on. 

"Absurd,  ridiculous,"  interjected  Irving 
hotly;  but  she  finished  her  sentence  as  if  he 
had  not  spoken. 

"Betsy  says  I  am  a  vine,  and  wish  too  much 
to  cling,  and  haven't  backbone  enough;  but 
Mr.  Derwent's  interest  puts  backbone  into 
me.  I  feel  that  surely  there  is  a  place  for  me 
somewhere  — " 

"Where,"  interrupted  her  companion,  "where 
in  Boston  are  you  going? " 

"He  will  take  care  of  it  all,  he  says.  Is  n't 
it  wonderful?  I  don't  wonder  that  he  loved 
my  father."  The  girl's  eyes  shone.  "He  says 
that  they  were  very  close  at  one  time,  and  that 
old  friends  can  never  be  replaced.  It  makes  me 
think  of  what  Holmes  said:  — 
"'  There  is  no  friend  like  the  old  friend,  who  has  shared 

our  morning  days, 
No   greeting   like   his  welcome,   no  homage  like   his 

praise: 
Fame  is  the  scentless  sunflower,  with  gaudy  crown  of 

gold; 

But  friendship  is  the  breathing  rose,  with  sweets  in 
every  fold!'" 

The  girlish  voice  was  like  music  above  the 
smothered  roar  of  many  waters.  As  Irving 

225 


Clever  Betsy 


listened  and  looked,  he  understood  the  warmth 
of  Mrs.  Bruce's  brief  enthusiasm. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  two  feasted  their 
eyes  upon  the  glories  before  them. 

"It  is  absurd  that  you  should  n't  go  back  to 
Boston  with  us,"  said  Irving  at  last. 

"I'd  much  rather  not,  Mr.  Bruce.  I  fear 
if  Mr.  Derwent  had  insisted  on  that,  I  should 
have  rebelled.  You  are  kind  to  take  an  inter 
est—" 

"An  interest!"  burst  forth  Irving,  and 
arrested  himself.  He  smiled.  "Did  n't  I  pick 
you  off  that  cliff  a  few  minutes  ago?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  which 
nearly  banished  his  self-control. 

"We  don't  hear  much  about  man-angels," 
she  said,  "but  you  looked  like  one  to  me  at 
that  moment — one  of  Botticelli's  —  you  know 
how  ready  they  always  look  to  scowl?" 

She  laughed  softly. 

"I  was  furious  with  you,"  said  Irving.  "So 
remember  I  have  part  interest  in  you  after  this. 
Mr.  Derwent  is  all  very  well,  but — 
"'  There  is   no  friend  like  the  old  friend,  who  has 
shared  our  morning  days.' 

These  are  our  morning  days,  Rosalie." 
.    "Yes,  and  the  morning  hours  of  them,"  she 

226 


Sunrise 


agreed.  "Since  I  knew  I  was  to  leave  to-day 
I  felt  I  could  not  waste  the  time  in  sleeping. 
I  wanted  —  oh !  how  I  wanted  —  how  I  have 
dreamed  of  seeing  the  sun  rise  in  this  canyon! 
Perhaps,"  she  looked  at  him  wistfully,  "per 
haps  it  would  have  been  my  last  sunrise  but 
for  you." 

Irving's  heart  beat  faster,  and  his  jaw  set. 
He  could  feel  again  the  yielding  form  that  had 
clung  to  him. 

"No  one  would  have  known,"  she  went  on 
in  a  dreamy  tone.  "Even  Mr.  Derwent  would 
have  thought  I  had  disappeared  purposely  and 
would  have  marveled  at  my  ingratitude;  but 
— "  her  voice  changed  and  she  looked  up  into 
Irving's  eyes,  smiling,  —  "they  might  all  have 
talked  about  me  and  said  critical  things,  yet 
Betsy  would  have  believed  in  me,  —  believed 
and  suffered.  Dear  Betsy!" 

"How  about  me?  How  about  the  friend  of 
your  morning  days?"  asked  Irving. 

"Oh,  you  only  began  to  be  that  this  morn 
ing.  You  would  never  have  given  the  matter  a 
thought;  and  even  Helen  Maynard  knows  me 
too  slightly  to  have  defended  me." 

"Miss  Maynard  has  found  a  gold-mine  in 
the  Yellowstone.  Did  Mr.  Derwent  tell  you  ? " 

227 


Clever  Betsy 


"No,  indeed.  What  do  you  mean?" 

"She  turns  out  to  be  an  heiress,  and  only 
discovered  it  here." 

"How  beautiful!"  Rosalie's  eyes  looked  away 
pensively.  "Any  fortunate  discovery  becomes 
glorified  by  being  made  here.  How  happy  she 
must  be !  It  is  so  fine  to  have  time  to  work  at 
what  you  love  to  do!" 

"Yes,"  answered  Irving.  "That  is  the 
Eldorado  for  each  of  us. 

"'And  only  the  Master  shall  praise  us, 
And  only  the  Master  shall  blame; 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  money, 
And  no  one  shall  work  for  fame, 
But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working; 
And  each  in  his  separate  star 
Shall  draw  the  Thing  as  he  sees  It 
For  the  God  of  Things  as  They  Are!'  " 

Rosalie's  eyes  were  bright  as  she  met  his. 

"And  I  think  Mr.  Derwent  means  to  let 
me  work  in  my  star.  It's  such  a  little  star, 
but  I  feel  it  in  me  to  succeed,  and  if  the  day 
should  come  when  I  vindicate  myself  to  —  to 
people  that  are  disappointed  in  me  now  and 
don't  understand,  I  shall  be  happy,  happy" 

"Happiness  is  largely  a  matter  of  —  of 
friendship,  as  you  said  a  few  minutes  ago," 

228 


Sunrise 


said  Irving.  "I  want  you  to  remember  that 
you  may  always  call  upon  me;  that  I  am  at 
your  service.  I  swear  you  shall  never  be  dis 
appointed." 

Rosalie  returned  his  earnest  regard  with 
serious  eyes. 

"You  saved  my  life,"  she  said. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  he  returned.  "You 
would  have  stooped  in  a  minute  and  crept 
to  a  place  of  safety  on  the  trail." 

"Then  why  were  you  so  savage  with  me?" 
she  asked.  "  It  would  have  been  necessary  for 
me  to  stand  up  on  that  rock,  and  to  take  a 
short  step  across  to  terra  firma.  It  seems  as 
if  I  never  could  have  done  it." 

"Oh,  yes.  The  giddiness  would  have  passed 
in  a  minute,  and  you  would  have  done  it. 
Self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  life." 

Rosalie  shook  her  head  slowly.  "Then  you 
have  a  bad  temper.  You  were  frightfully 
cross." 

"That  was  merely  discipline.  You  should 
never  go  to  a  place  like  that  unless  I  am  with 
you." 

"You!" 

The  girl's  tone  of  extreme  wonder  brought 
the  color  to  her  companion's  face.  He  replied, 

229 


Clever  Betsy 


however,  with  sang-froid.  "  Yes.  I  '11  take  you 
down  there  now  if  you'd  like  to  try  it  again." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"No." 

He  laughed.  "Discreet  second  thought, 
eh?" 

"No,  I'm  not  afraid,  with  you,"  she  replied 
quietly.  "But  I  don't  care  to  go  again."  A 
pause,  then  she  continued:  "I  must  go  back 
to  the  hotel.  I  leave  to-day." 

"And  we  to-morrow.  It  is  a  shame.  I  wish 
you'd  let  me  — " 

"No,  Mr.  Bruce,  not  for  anything,"  she 
returned  earnestly.  "Let  Mr.  Derwent  take 
care  of  it,  and  —  if  we  meet  again  here,  will 
you  kindly  not  talk  to  me?" 

"Just  as  you  say.  I  will  go  back  to  the  hotel 
with  you  now;  but  this  is  our  good-by.  Give 
me  both  your  hands,  Rosalie." 

She  obeyed.  Their  eyes  met.  She  colored 
richly,  looking  like  an  embodiment  of  the 
morning  as  she  stood  against  the  sombre  green 
of  the  stately  pines.  Freedom  was  before  her: 
freedom  to  live,  and  to  work,  with  the  know 
ledge  that  she  was  no  longer  alone  in  the  world. 
That  was  cause  enough  for  the  happiness  that 
shone  in  her  eyes ;  but  that  was  not  filling  her 

230 


Sunrise 


thoughts  to  overflowing  while  Irving  clasped 
her  rough  little  hands  close.  It  was  the  remem 
brance  of  the  pounding  terror  of  his  heart  in 
the  moment  when  they  had  clung  together  on 
the  dizzy  rock. 

"Don't  forget,  Rosalie.   I  am  your  ally." 
She  stood  silent,  her  starry  gaze  not  drop 
ping  before  his. 

"Friendship  is  going  to  mean  a  great  deal  to 
us,"  he  went  on.  "I  feel  it.  Remember;  for  — 

'"  Friendship  is  the  breathing  rose,  with  sweets  in 
every  fold.'" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HOMEWARD    BOUND 

WHEN  Betsy  Foster  awoke  that  morning  she 
was  full  of  excitement. 

She  assisted  Mrs.  Bruce  as  usual  with  her 
toilet,  and  at  the  first  possible  moment  has 
tened  to  the  apartment  of  her  contraband 
protegee. 

She  found  Rosalie  in  her  cheap  traveling 
dress  of  golden  brown,  and  with  her  hat  on. 

She  was  sitting  before  a  table  on  which  was 
a  breakfast-tray,  and  she  was  sipping  coffee. 

"That's  right,  Betsy.  Come  and  see  the 
lay-over,"  she  said.  "I  feel  still  as  if  I  needed 
identification." 

The  night  before,  her  supper  had  been 
served  in  the  same  way  and  place  by  Mr. 
Derwent's  order,  and  he  and  Betsy  had,  un 
suspected,  spent  an  hour  here  with  the  girl, 
planning  her  movements,  and  allowing  her  new 
benefactor  to  become  somewhat  acquainted 
with  his  old  friend's  daughter. 

Mr.  Derwent  had  no  desire  to  stir  up  ques 
tioning,  and  there  was  every  chance  now  that 

232 


Homeward  Bound 


Rosalie  would  get  off  by  the  morning  stage 
without  being  observed. 

"  Is  it  really  I,  Betsy,  sitting  here  and  being 
waited  on  like  this,  and  being  cared  for  by 
such  adorable  people?" 

The  girl  had  risen  on  Betsy's  entrance,  and 
embraced  her,  pressing  her  fresh  cheek  against 
the  thin  one  where  a  bright  spot  burned. 

"Now,  now,  you  can  hug  me  a  fortnight 
hence,"  said  Betsy.  "Sit  down  and  finish  your 
breakfast." 

She  glanced  at  the  bed.  The  coverings  were 
neatly  laid  over  the  foot-board,  and  the  pil 
lows  were  plump  and  smooth. 

"How  did  you  sleep,  child?"  she  continued 
as  Rosalie  returned  to  her  coffee.  "The  pil 
lows  look  as  if  you  had  n't  touched  'em." 

"I  don't  always  use  a  pillow,"  returned  the 
girl  evasively. 

"You  look  kind  o'  pale.  I  don't  believe  you 
slept  real  good." 

"What  does  it  matter?"  Rosalie  held  her 
friend  with  wistful,  glowing  eyes.  "Why  should 
one  lose  the  consciousness  of  happiness  even 
for  ten  minutes?" 

There  was  a  little  contraction  of  Betsy's 
heart.  So  young  a  creature  to  be  economical 

233 


Clever  Betsy 


of  happiness;  but  the  intensity  of  the  girl's 
eyes  disturbed  her. 

"Now  you  must  n't  get  so  wrought  up  over 
things,  Rosalie.  Make  it  a  rule  to  be  mejum 
in  everything.  I  always  have,  and  I  find  it  the 
best  way." 

A  low  laugh  escaped  the  girl  as  she  met  the 
kind  gaze.  Had  Betsy  ever  stood  in  the  midst 
of  roaring  immensity,  an  atom  in  the  whirl  of 
colossal,  dreadful  beauty,  and  fallen  from  dire 
panic  into  the  close  embrace  of  safety,  with 
the  beat  of  a  kingly  heart  upon  hers?  Poor 
Betsy!  Poor  everybody  in  the  wide  universe 
except  Rosalie  Vincent! 

The  good  woman  went  on  talking,  and  the 
girl  heard  not  a  word.  She  was  back  beneath 
the  pines  watching  the  eagles  at  their  nest,  in 
a  rainbow  chasm. 

"Gracious,  child!"  said  Betsy  at  last,  laugh 
ing  and  pulling  the  suit-case  out  of  Rosalie's 
hands.  "You  look  like  a  sleep-walker;  let  me 
put  those  things  in  there.  And  now  you  stay 
right  here  until  I  come  back  and  tell  you  when 
to  come  downstairs.  What  have  you  got  to 
keep  you  warm?  It'll  be  cold  stagin'  to-day." 

"I  had  a  sweater,"  said  Rosalie  absently. 
"I  lost  it  somewhere  in  the  canyon." 

234 


Homeward  Bound 


"In  the  canyon?"  repeated  Betsy  mechan 
ically.  Then  she  repeated  the  words  explo 
sively.  "What  do  you  mean,  Rosalie  Vincent? 
Have  you  been  out  there  this  mornin'?" 

Rosalie  looked  the  picture  of  detected  guilt. 

"Well  I  guess  you  are  a  genius!  You're  as 
crazy  as  the  best  of  'em." 

"You  would  n't  have  had  me  leave  this 
place  without  seeing  it?"  said  the  girl. 

Betsy  bit  her  lip.  "Well,  I  guess  that's 
about  so,"  she  said.  "It  would  seem  cruelty; 
but  you  see  Mr.  Derwent  thought  you'd 
better  be  ahead  of  us,  and  he  and  I  both  know, 
if  anybody  does,  what  it  is  to  stir  up  a  strife 
o'  tongues!  And  I  s'pose  in  the  hurried  ar 
rangement  everything  sort  o'  slipped  into 
insignificance  compared  to  smugglin'  you  out 
o'  the  Park." 

Betsy's  tone  had  turned  from  accusation 
to  apology.  "So  you  really  have  seen  the 
canyon,"  she  added,  pausing,  and  regarding 
the  pale  face. 

"I  saw  the  sunrise  there,"  returned  Rosalie. 

"My  stars!"  ejaculated  Betsy.  "If  I  could 
see  that,  seems  if  I  would  n't  care  if  I  never 
saw  another  sight  in  this  world." 

"I  don't,"  returned  Rosalie  quietly;  and  the 
235 


Clever  Betsy 


blue  gaze  went  far  beyond  Betsy's  sallow, 
wondering  countenance.  "I  was  born  again 
in  the  canyon." 

Her  look  startled  Betsy.  "Bemejum,  Rosa 
lie,"  she  said.  "You'll  wear  yourself  out  if 
you  feel  too  much.  Be  mejum.  It's  a  splendid 
rule." 

It  came  about  that  Mr.  Derwent  effected 
his  protegee's  departure  without  disturbance. 

Betsy  complained  to  Mrs.  Bruce  of  the  cold 
of  the  morning  and  advised  her  not  to  stand 
on  the  veranda  to  view  the  loading  of  the 
stages.  Mrs.  Nixon  would  not  do  this  in  any 
case,  and  Robert  had  taken  Helen  out  for  a 
stroll. 

Only  Irving  Bruce  paced  the  piazza  among 
the  crowd,  and  when  Mr.  Derwent  put  Rosalie 
into  the  stage  he  met  her  eyes  once. 

Mr.  Derwent  saw  him,  and  wondered  if  he 
had  recognized  the  brown  bird.  He  prepared 
himself  for  an  explanation,  and  approached 
the  young  man. 

"Pretty  snappy  drive  they're  in  for  this 
morning,"  he  said. 

"It  is  rather  fresh,"  replied  the  latter.  "I 
was  just  wondering  if  Miss  Vincent  had  wraps 
enough." 

236 


Homeward  Bound 


Mr.  Derwent  regarded  him  curiously.  "You 
recognized  her  then?" 

"Yes." 

•  "I  take  great  interest  in  that  girl,"  said 
Mr.  Derwent. 

"I  am  not  surprised." 

"I  am  sending  her  out  of  the  Park." 

"If  you  had  n't,  I  should,"  said  Irving. 

"It's  scarcely  a  case  for  your  assistance," 
returned  Mr.  Derwent  dryly.  "But  I  wish  to 
say  that  I  appreciate  your  refraining  from 
approaching  her  just  now." 

Irving  thought  of  the  white  dove  that  had 
clung  to  his  breast. 

"You  showed  good  taste,"  went  on  Mr. 
Derwent,  "and  an  appreciation  of  the  fact 
that  this  is  a  case  where  'the  least  said,  the 
soonest  mended,'  applies." 

"Quite  so,"  answered  Irving  equably;  and 
Mr.  Derwent,  once  more  nodding  approval 
of  him,  went  into  the  house. 

What  a  drive  it  was  that  morning  for  Rosa 
lie!  Betsy  had  wrapped  around  her,  beneath 
her  coat,  a  woolly  "fascinator"  of  her  own, 
and  even  without  it,  it  is  doubtful  if  the  girl 
would  have  recognized  temperature.  Every 
little  creature  of  the  woods,  as  it  came  fear- 

237 


Clever  Betsy 


lessly  from  its  covert,  seemed  to  congratulate 
her  on  being  alive  with  them;  like  them  safe 
from  being  hunted,  free  to  love,  to  work. 

Arrived  at  Norris  for  luncheon,  who  should 
come  to  wait  on  her  at  table  but  Miss  Hickey. 

The  young  woman  stood  above  the  blonde 
girl's  chair,  and  impersonally  called  the  menu 
to  whomever  it  might  concern. 

Rosalie  looked  slowly  around  at  her,  her 
golden-brown  veil  pushed  up  from  her  face. 

"Miss  Hickey,"  she  said  softly. 

"Goodness,  Baby!   You!" 

The  waitress's  eyes  stared  and  snapped; 
but  business  pressed,  and  it  was  not  until  the 
end  of  the  meal,  when  Rosalie  lingered  for  the 
purpose,  that  Miss  Hickey  had  opportunity 
to  slake  her  burning  thirst  for  information. 

"Been  fired?"  she  asked  sympathetically. 

"No,  I  left." 

"Struck  a  gold  mine?  How  are  you  goin' 
to  pay  your  way  back?" 

"  Some  friends  are  sending  me  back." 

Miss  Hickey  eyed  her  scrutinizingly.  "You 
look  as  happy  as  if  you'd  lost  twenty-five 
cents,  and  found  ten  dollars." 

"I  am  happy.  Oh,  Miss  Hickey,  I'm  so 
happy!" 

238 


Homeward  Bound 


"Who's  with  you,  Baby?  I'll  skin  'em  if 
they're  doin'  you  mean." 

"No  one's  with  me.  I'm  all  alone.  I'm 
going  to  Boston  alone." 

"Sent?  Or  sent  /or?"  inquired  the  other, 
still  unsatisfied. 

"Sent,"  returned  Rosalie  with  a  seraphic 
smile. 

"By  those  folks  you  were  scared  of?"  asked 
Miss  Hickey,  with  sudden  inspiration. 

"No,  the  other  people.  Do  you  remember 
the  deaf  gentleman  with  gray  hair?" 

"No,  I  don't,  Blue-eyes."  Miss  Hickey 
spoke  sharply.  "The  grayer  they  are,  the 
worse  they  are.  That's  my  experience." 

"Oh,  he's  so  good!"  exclaimed  Rosalie, 
"and  he  is  a  friend  of  my  father's,  and  he 
wants  to  help  me." 

"Well,  I  hope  he  does.  How's  that  grand 
young  feller,  Mr.  Bruce.  Seen  him  lately?" 

"Yes,  I've  seen  them  all.  They're  enjoying 
the  Park.  How  have  you  been,  Miss  Hickey? 
I  can't  realize  it's  only  a  few  days  since  I  saw 
you.  It  seems  years." 

"Oh,  I've  been  busier 'n  a  nest  o'  snakes, 
doin'  nothin'.  Been  laid  up  most  ever  since 
you  were  here." 

239 


Clever  Betsy 


"  I  'm  afraid  the  Swattie  ball  was  too  much," 
returned  Rosalie,  smiling;  "and  I'm  sorry,  so 
sorry!" 

She  put  out  her  hand. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  go  without  seeing  you 
again,"  she  went  on,  giving  Miss  Hickey's  a 
tight  pressure.  "  I  shall  always  remember  you 
gratefully." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  too;  and  see 
you  in  so  much  luck.  I  hope  it's  all  right." 
The  black-eyed  girl  spoke  doubtfully. 

"The  rightest  thing  in  the  world,"  returned 
Rosalie;  and  black  eyes,  no  matter  how  sophis 
ticated,  could  not  meet  hers  and  doubt  it. 

"You're  goin'  right  on  to  the  Mammoth?" 
inquired  Miss  Hickey. 

"Yes,  and  leave  there  to-night." 

"Ain't  you  the  grand  lady!  What's  your 
hurry?" 

"Why,"Rosalie  smiled  mischievously,  "those 
other  people — the  ones  I  was  afraid  of — will  be 
here  to-morrow." 

"Hot  on  your  trail,  eh?"  said  the  other. 
"Well,  you're  a  galoot  to  go  alone,  when  you 
might  be  in  the  stage  with  Mr.  Bruce.  If  he 's 
comin'  here  to-morrow  I'll  be  on  the  watch 
for  him,  believe  me!" 

240 


Homeward  Bound 


There  were  showers  of  rain  and  hail  all  the 
afternoon  while  Rosalie  coached  to  the  Mam 
moth  Hot  Springs.  When  the  girl  saw  again 
the  veranda  where  she  had  trembled  behind 
Miss  Rickey's  shoulder,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
a  magic  wand  had  transformed  her  life;  and 
so  it  was.  All  the  way  she  found  her  path 
smoothed  by  the  forethought  of  her  benefac 
tor;  and  the  long  journey  to  Boston  was  made 
with  no  consciousness  of  care  or  tedium. 

The  newly-fledged,  exultant  heiress  left  be 
hind  at  the  Colonial  Hotel  little  knew  that 
the  famous  lawyer  through  whom  her  own  for 
tune  had  found  its  rightful  owner  had  bestowed 
still  greater  relief  and  courage  upon  her  hum 
ble  school  friend. 

Clever  Betsy  kept  her  poise  admirably. 
She  did  not  approach  Mr.  Derwent,  nor  ask 
him  a  question. 

When  the  party  returned  to  Norris  they 
little  suspected  how  a  pair  of  black  eyes  in  the 
dining-room  were,  in  Miss  Hickey's  vernacu 
lar,  "sizing  them  up." 

Had  burning  glances  visible  effect,  Mr.  Der- 
went's  scrupulously  brushed  head  would  have 
shown  several  bald  spots.  The  examination 
was  on  the  whole  satisfactory,  and,  joyous  to 

241 


Clever  Betsy 


relate,  Miss  Hickey  succeeded  in  waiting  upon 
Irving  Bruce. 

He  came  to  luncheon  a  little  late,  and  thus 
sat  away  from  his  party. 

As  he  ate  his  dessert,  to  his  surprise  the 
waitress  lingering  beside  his  chair  opened  her 
lips  and  spoke. 

"  I  remember  you  folks  real  well,"  she  said. 
"I  was  in  your  stage  when  you  come  on  from 
Mammoth." 

Irving  glanced  up,  and  as  her  words  reached 
his  abstracted  consciousness,  he  looked  sud 
denly  interested. 

"You  were  with  Miss  Vincent,  then,"  he 
replied. 

"M'hm,"  admitted  Miss  Hickey  with  ele 
gant  ease.  "I  seen  her  yesterday,"  she  added, 
as  the  young  man  did  not  press  the  matter. 
"  She', 's  quit." 

"You  saw  her  yesterday?"  he  repeated 
eagerly.  "How  was  she?" 

"  Oh-Ao  /  "  ej  aculated  Miss  Hickey,  mentally. 
"You  take  notice,  do  you?" 

"Perter'n  a  chipmunk,"  she  returned  aloud. 
"  Say,"  meeting  Irving's  uplifted  gaze, "  is  that 
gent  with  the  bum  ear,  the  deef  gent,  I  mean, 
-is  he  on  the  level?" 

242 


Homeward  Bound 


"Why —  certainly.  Did  —  did  Miss  Vin- 
cent- 

"Yes,  she  did.  She  told  me  he  was  sendin' 
her  back.  Say;  do  you  know  her?" 

"Yes,  slightly." 

"Then  you  know  that  she'd  believe  Satan 
if  he  smiled  on  her.  I  'd  like  to  know  that  she 's 
in  good  hands.  That's  what  I  'd  like  to  know." 

Irving  Bruce  smiled  upon  Miss  Hickey,  a 
bright  light  in  his  eyes. 

"Do  you  see  the  thin-faced  lady  over  there, 
the  one  with  the  brown  waist?"  he  asked. 

"Sure.  The  hatchet-faced  one." 

"Miss  Vincent  is  in  her  hands,"  said  Irving; 
"and  they're  the  best  hands  in  the  world." 

He  rose. 

"Well,  believe  me,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it," 
was  the  hearty  response. 

Irving  smiled  upon  Rosalie's  friend  again, 
and  gave  her  a  tip  which  not  only  supplied  her 
with  candy  for  weeks  to  come,  but  gave  her 
food  for  thought  as  well. 

"Maybe  I  didn't  butt  in  just  right!"  she 
reflected.  "Oh,  he's  just  grand!  Good  for 
Baby!  I  guess  she's  goin'  some!" 

Betsy  bided  her  time.  She  was  sure  that 
before  the  party  reached  Boston,  Mr.  Derwent 

243 


Clever  Betsy 


would  again  open  the  subject  of  their  mutual 
interest. 

Irving's  silence  upon  it  awakened  no  sus 
picion  in  her  faithful  breast.  She  had  assured 
him  that  all  was  well,  and  adjured  him  to  trust 
her;  and,  his  mind  set  at  rest,  the  thought  of 
Rosalie  had  slipped  out  of  it,  which,  consid 
ering  that  he  belonged  to  Mrs.  Bruce,  was  the 
best  thing  that  could  happen. 

Betsy's  expectation  was  well-founded.  One 
afternoon  after  their  train  had  left  Chicago, 
and  there  came  a  lull  in  the  interminable 
games  of  bridge  which  had  whiled  the  hours 
away,  Mr.  Derwent  approached  the  seat  where 
Betsy  sat  alone,  viewing  the  flying  landscape 
—  flat  but  not  unprofitable. 

"May  I  sit  here  a  minute?"  he  asked. 

She  gave  him  a  one-sided  smile  of  welcome. 
A  veil  was  wrapped  around  her  head  in  much 
the  same  fashion  in  which  she  wore  a  cheese 
cloth  on  cleaning  days  at  home. 

They  talked  for  half  an  hour;  the  noise  of 
the  train  increasing,  as  it  always  did,  the  ease 
of  Mr.  Derwent's  hearing. 

Mrs.  Bruce  glanced  at  them  more  than  once, 
well  pleased  with  the  satisfied  expression  on 
her  handmaid's  countenance. 

244 


Homeward  Bound 


She  addressed  Mrs.  Nixon. 

"What  an  extraordinarily  kindly  man  your 
brother  is!"  she  said. 

"The  best  in  the  world,"  agreed  Mrs.  Nixon 
impressively. 

Had  either  of  them  heard  the  directions  he 
was  giving  Betsy  at  that  moment,  they  would 
have  edited  their  praise. 

Helen  Maynard  and  both  the  young  men 
were  occupying  a  section  opposite,  showing 
one  another  card  tricks,  and  Mrs.  Nixon  and 
Mrs.  Bruce  with  quiet  minds  discussed  their 
summer  wardrobes,  and  the  Fairport  Inn. 

By  a  strange  coincidence  the  subjects  being 
discussed  by  Betsy  and  Mr.  Derwent  were 
precisely  the  same. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
MRS.  BRUCE'S  HEADACHE 

"BE  it  ever  so  humble,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce, 
"there's  no  place  like  home!" 

She  was  standing  again  on  the  veranda  of 
her  summer  cottage,  where  Betsy  was  airing 
and  beating  pillows. 

"Pretty  good  place,"  agreed  Betsy.  "I'm 
glad  I  ain't  goin'  to  see  a  trunk  for  months; 
but — "  she  hesitated  unwontedly,  and  then 
continued,  "I'd  like  to  go  to  Boston  for  a 
couple  o'  days,  Mrs.  Bruce,  if  you  can  spare 


me." 


"Dear  me,  when  we've  just  arrived?" 
"The  cook's  all  right,  and  you've  got  Mr. 

Irving  and  his  friend  both  here — " 

"A  lot  of  good  they  are,"  retorted  Mrs. 

Bruce.    "They've  lived  with  Captain  Salter 


ever  since  we  came." 


Betsy  said  nothing.  Mrs.  Bruce  had  the 
uncomfortable  realization  which  seized  her 
at  times  that,  although  her  None-such  went 
through  the  form  of  asking  her  permission,  she 
would  in  fact  do  exactly  what  she  thought  best. 

246 


Mrs.  Bruce 's  Headache 


"It's  such  a  queer  thing  for  you  to  want  to 
do,  Betsy,"  she  continued,  "to  go  back  into 
the  heart  of  the  city  immediately.  Of  course 
Mrs.  Nixon  felt  obliged  to  stay  a  few  days  with 
Miss  Maynard,  to  order  some  gowns  — ' 

"Do  you  want  to  send  her  any  word?" 

"Yes,  I  promised  to  look  at  the  rooms  at  the 
inn  and  see  what  they  had." 

"Can't  I  do  that  for  you?"  asked  Betsy. 

"Why,  yes,  I  wish  you  would." 

"I  can  go  this  afternoon  just  as  well  as  not," 
remarked  Betsy  quietly. 

"Don't  it  beat  all,  the  way  things  come 
round  all  right  if  you  just  don't  fidget?"  she 
thought. 

The  middle  of  the  afternoon  found  her  on 
the  way  to  the  pretty  inn,  set  on  a  slight  rise 
of  ground  above  the  river.  Mr.  Beebe,  the 
proprietor,  was  a  Fairport  man,  an  old  friend 
of  Betsy's,  whose  provincial  ideas  had  for 
years  been  in  process  of  changing  and  forming 
by  contact  with  the  summer  people  for  whom 
he  catered;  and  what  had  once  been  a  barn- 
like  structure  known  as  the  Fairport  Hotel, 
now  showed  as  a  modern  inn,  with  verandas 
and  a  pretense  to  fashion. 

Mr.  Beebe  welcomed  Betsy  with  effusion, 
247 


Clever  Betsy 


rallied  her  on  her  travels  and  her  worldly 
experience,  and  at  last  settled  down  to  listen 
to  her  business. 

When  finally  she  arose  to  go,  he  remarked:  — 

"Well,  seems  if  there  was  n't  any  end  to 
the  new-fangled  notions  a  feller's  got  to  listen 
to  and  adopt  to  keep  up  with  the  times.  I 
have  n't  forgot  how-  clever  you  were  to  my 
wife  when  she  was  sick  a  couple  o'  years  ago, 
and  I  don't  like  to  turn  down  anything  you 
ask  of  me." 

"  I  appreciate  your  kindness,  Sam,  but  you 
ain't  goin'  to  lose  money  by  this  plan.  You 
know  we  are  all  pretty  proud  o'  the  Inn.  If 
Mrs.  Bruce  was  n't  she'd  never  a  recommended 
it  to  the  Nixons.  They're  folks  that  are  used 
to  the  best;  and  we'd  like  to  see  it  have  all 
the  attractions  any  resort  has.  Mark  my 
words,  you'll  thank  me  for  this,  instead  o'  me 
you,  though  I  ain't  underratin'  your  good 
feelin'.  Good-by,  Sam." 

Clever  Betsy  left  the  place  with  a  springing 
step. 

She  found  her  mistress  in  a  rather  injured 
frame  of  mind  when  she  reached  the  cottage. 
It  wore  upon  the  lady  that  the  None-such  was 
going  to  desert  her  post  for  two  days. 

248 


Mrs.  Bruce9 s  Headache 


"That's  the  worst  of  having  a  person  like 
Betsy,"  she  thought;  "one  gets  so  dependent. 
It's  humiliating.  I  feel  just  like  asking  her  not 
to  go,  but  I  could  n't  bring  myself  to  do  that." 

So  Mrs.  Bruce  compromised  by  being  silent 
and  wearing  an  abused  air. 

"Once  in  a  while  Betsy  will  do  a  real  selfish 
thing,"  she  reflected;  and  she  demanded  of 
memory  to  stand  and  deliver  the  last  occasion 
when  her  housekeeper  had  displayed  base  in 
gratitude.  Memory  appearing  to  find  the 
task  difficult,  she  resorted  to  deep  sighs  and 
an  ostentatious  headache. 

Betsy  was  amused,  but  also  somewhat 
touched. 

"She  ain't  anything  but  a  child,  never  was, 
and  never  will  be,"  she  thought.  "You  can't 
get  out  of  a  barrel  what  ain't  in  it." 

She  told  her  mistress  of  the  pleasant  rooms 
at  the  inn  available  because  of  having  sud 
denly  been  given  up  by  their  usual  occupants. 
"I'll  go  see  Mrs.  Nixon  and  tell  her  about 
'em,"  she  added.  "Mr.  Beebe's  promised  to 
hold  'em  till  Wednesday." 

Mrs.  Bruce  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead, 
but  apparently  was  too  far  gone,  sunk  among 
her  cushions,  to  reply. 

249 


Clever  Betsy 


"  I  think  it  would  be  real  nice  for  you  to  do 
a  lot  o'  sailin'  while  I'm  gone,"  said  Betsy 
cheerfully. 

"That's  just  about  as  considerate  as  you 
are!"  returned  Mrs.  Bruce,  with  remarkable 
fire  for  one  in  the  languorous  stage  of  head 
ache.  "You  know  very  well  that  at  the  best  of 
times  I  don't  care  very  much  for  sailing." 

"I  thought  with  Mr.  Irving  and  Cap'n 
Salter  both,  you  felt  real  safe,  and  enjoyed  it," 
said  Betsey  pacifically;  and  Mrs.  Bruce  had 
sundry  disconcerting  memories  of  hiking  hila 
riously  with  her  hand  on  her  boy's  shoulder. 

"Don't  you  suppose,"  she  said  with  a 
superior  air,  "that  I  ever  make  a  pretense  of 
enjoying  things  for  Irving's  sake?" 

Betsy's  lips  twitched.  "You  acted  so  natural 
you  took  me  in,"  she  returned  meekly. 

Mrs.  Bruce  sank  back  again  among  her 
pillows. 

"  I  '11  make  out  a  list  for  all  the  meals  while 
I'm  gone,"  said  Betsy  comfortingly,  "and 
give  it  to  the  cook.  You  see,  Mrs.  Bruce,  one 
o'  my  friends  that's  lived  in  the  country  and 
is  very  inexperienced,  wants  to  get  a  few 
clothes  in  the  city.  She  don't  know  where  to 
go  or  what  to  pay,  and  I  told  her  I  'd  come  in 

250 


Mrs.  Bruce9 s  Headache 


for  a  couple  o'  days  and  help  her.   You  won't 
scarcely  miss  me  before  I  'm  back." 

"I  must  say,  Betsy,"  declared  her  mistress 
faintly,  "some  people  would  have  waited  until 
there  was  no  guest  in  the  house." 

"I'm  real  sorry  I  can't  wait,"  returned 
Betsy  gently;  "but  I  'm  goin'  to  arrange  for 
the  meals,  as  I  say,  so  you  won't  have  a  mite 
o'  trouble,  and  Mr.  Nixon  always  makes 
everything  jolly." 

Mrs.  Bruce  made  no  reply,  and  Betsy  left 
the  room. 

Going  out  on  the  street,  she  heard  a  piercing 
whistle  down  the  street,  executing  a  classic 
which  would  inspire  a  bronze  image  to  cake- 
walk. 

Betsy  did  not  attempt  any  fancy  steps, 
but  she  started  on  a  long,  energetic  stride  in 
the  direction  of  the  shrill  ragtime. 

She  waved  her  hand  with  a  gesture  which 
she  knew  would  check  Robert's  effervescence. 

He  waved  his  cap  in  return. 

"Where's  Mr.  Irving?"  she  asked  as  soon 
as  he  could  hear  her. 

"He's  helping  Cap'n  Salter  with  the  sail. 
They  did  n't  appreciate  my  services,  so  I 
came  away." 

251 


Clever  Betsy 


"I  just  wanted  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Nixon,  that 
I'm  goin'  to  Boston." 

"Giddy  creature!  The  whirl  of  the  city 
drawing  you  so  soon?" 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  tell  your  mother  what  rooms 
there  are  at  the  inn,  and  if  you  have  any 
message — ' 

"I  have.  Tell  her  it's  great  here,  and  to 
let  me  know  as  soon  as  she's  through  using 
the  car,  because  I  want  to  bring  it  down  — 
or  up." 

"I  will.  Say,  Mr.  Nixon,"  —  they  were 
strolling  toward  the  house,  Betsy  hanging 
back  unaccountably,  —  "I  hope  you  and  Mr. 
Irving '11  be  sort  of  attentive  to  Mrs.  Bruce 
for  a  couple  o'  days." 

"Sure  thing.  I'm  eternally  attentive  to 
her.  What 'sup?" 

"Well  —  she  doesn't  like  to  have  me  go; 
has  the  habit  of  me,  you  know  ;  and  I  've  got 
to  go,  that's  all  there  is  about  it." 

"Sad!  sad!'?  ejaculated  Robert.  "Frightful 
thing  —  habit.  You  seemed  so  mild  out  in  the 
Yellowstone  I  had  n't  an  idea  you  could  n't 
endure  the  quiet  of  the  country  a  week." 

"Now  I'm  relyin'  quite  a  lot,"  said  Betsy, 
"on  your  foolishness." 

252 


Mrs.  Bruce 's  Headache 


"What?"  inquired  the  young  man,  his  voice 
breaking. 

"Mrs.  Bruce  can  impose  on  Mr.  Irving  — 
I  mean,  —  you  know  what  I  mean,  she  can 
make  him  fall  in  with  her  moods;  while  you 
—  well,  you're  just  as  good  as  a  rattle  to  — " 

"Betsy,  —  now,  Betsy,  beware!  I  have 
average  poise,  I  hope,  still  I  'm  only  human. 
My  head  can  be  turned!" 

Betsy  smiled.  "I  don't  know  as  I  exactly 
make  you  understand  what  I  mean  — " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do.  Your  meaning  is  as  clear 
as  clear  limping  water.  Please  don't  be  any 
more  definite  or  I  may  burst  into  tears;  and 
it's  in  every  etiquette  book  that  I  ever  read, 
that  it  is  n't  proper  to  make  the  company 
cry." 

"Yes,  that's  the  way,"  said  Betsy  with 
satisfaction.  "Just  chatter  to  her  like  that, 
and  she '11—"  ? 

"Betsy!  Cruel  one!  How  can  I  impress 
you!" 

"Now  listen,"  —  they  were  drawing  near 
the  house  —  "Mrs.  Bruce '11  act  sick  when 
you  go  in.  I  don't  mean  she's  actin',  but  she 
don't  like  things  to  go  the  way  she  has  n't 
planned  'em;  and  she's  a  real  dependent  little 

253 


Clever  Betsy 


lady,  and  you  and  Mr.  Irving  must  keep  her 
as  happy  as  a  lark  while  I'm  gone.  I've  got 
to  get  off  early  in  the  mornin',  and  I  may  not 
get  a  chance  to  see  him  alone  at  all;  so  you 
tell  him  I'm  real  sorry,  and  I'll  hurry  back, 
and  you  take  her  with  you  everywhere,  and 
look  out  for  her  and  —  and  I  'm  goin'  around 
this  back  way.  She's  right  in  the  livin'-room. 
You '11  find  her." 

Betsy  disappeared  with  guilty  haste,  and 
Robert,  smiling  to  himself  and  whistling  softly, 
mounted  the  steps. 

"Once  there  was  a  book,"  he  thought, 
"named '  Pink  and  White  Tyranny.'  Madama's 
an  anachronism.  She  belongs  in  it." 

He  presented  himself  cap  in  hand  at  the 
door  of  the  room  where  Mrs.  Bruce  lay  motion 
less  on  a  thickly  pillowed  divan. 

"Any  admittance?"  he  asked. 

The  sufferer  stirred.  "Is  that  you,  Nixie?" 
she  returned  faintly. 

He  advanced  to  the  divan.  "  Dear  me,  what 's 
this  ?  You  were  so  fit  this  morning." 

"Oh,  I've  been  quite  upset." 

"You  look  it.  Absolutely  knocked  down. 
Nothing  serious,  I  hope?" 

"Where's  Irving?" 

254 


Mrs.  Bruce's  Headache 


"Mending  a  sail  with  Captain  Salter.  They 
were  so  disrespectful  to  me  that  I  came  home." 

"I'm  very  poor  company,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
the  hostess  languidly. 

"  But  at  least  you  appreciate  me,  Mrs.  Bruce. 
You  don't  hurt  my  feelings  every  second  word 
you  utter.  May  n't  I  sit  here  by  you,"  —  the 
speaker  took  a  chair  close  to  the  divan,  — 
"and  rub  your  head,  perhaps?  My  mother 
will  tell  you  I'm  a  cracker-jack  at  it." 

Mrs.  Bruce  gave  an  inarticulate  exclamation 
of  dissent. 

"I  should  expect  you  to  rub  my  hair  off," 
she  exclaimed  faintly. 

"It  does  n't  look  like  that  kind,"  returned 
Robert  innocently. 

Her  eyes  were  closed,  but  she  could  feel  his, 
brightly  curious,  fixed  upon  her  coiffure. 

"You  make  me  nervous,  Nixie.  Would  you 
mind  taking  a  book?" 

"A  thousand  pardons,  dear  hostess!  Of 
course  I  will.  I  did  just  want  to  ask  your  ad 
vice  about  the  car,  though." 

"What  car?"  Mrs.  Bruce's  eyes  opened. 

"Ours.  I  think  when  mother  gets  through 
dressing  Miss  Maynard,  we'd  better  have  it 
here.  Don't  you?" 

255 


Clever  Betsy 


"The  roads  are  excellent,"  replied  the  pros 
trate  one. 

"Of  course  it's  Uncle  Henry's  car,  but  it's 
all  in  the  family." 

"We  have  n't  one,  just  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Bruce.  "We  sold  it  when  we  went  to  Europe; 
and  Irving  is  such  a  merman  we  thought  we 
would  n't  do  anything  about  a  new  one  till  we 
went  back  to  town." 

"I  suppose  you  have  an  electric  for  your 
self,"  said  Robert. 

"I'm  going  to  have  one  as  soon  as  we  get 
back.  I've  always  thought  I  was  too  timid 
to  drive  it,  but  of  late  I've  come  to  feel  that 
I  don't  like  to  be  the  only  woman  that  has  n't 


one." 


"Oh,  you  are  just  the  person  to  drive  an 
electric,"  said  Robert,  his  eyes  twinkling  as 
Mrs.  Bruce  unconsciously  raised  herself  to  a 
sitting  posture  among  the  pillows.  "You'll 
spin  down  to  the  bank  every  afternoon  and 
bring  Brute  home." 

"I  really  do  think  you're  right,  Nixie," 
returned  his  hostess  plaintively.  "I  have  a 
very  cool  head,  and  it's  all  nonsense  that  I 
could  n't  drive  an  electric  even  in  the  Boston 
cowpaths,  while  in  the  Parks  — " 

256 


Mrs.  Bruce 's  Headache 


"Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Bruce,  never  think  that 
Brute  will  accompany  you  there!" 

"Why  not?"  The  question  had  all  the 
usual  crispness. 

"Such  a  stately  method  of  locomotion  will 
not  commend  itself  for  his  sportive  hours. 
What  car  does  he  think  of  getting?" 

The  question  opened  a  flood-gate;  and  for 
the  next  fifteen  minutes,  talk  of  pros  and  cons 
regarding  different  high-class  motors  snapped 
with  an  ever-increasing  vivacity  in  the  erst 
while  chamber  of  suffering. 

Once  Betsy  came  near  the  door  and  listened. 

"But  that  car  does  n't  have  to  be  cranked," 
she  heard  her  mistress  declare  in  bright  tones. 

She  nodded  with  satisfaction  and  ran  up 
stairs  to  put  her  belongings  in  a  suit-case. 


CHAPTER  XX 
BETSY'S  APPEAL 

TRUE  to  her  promise,  Betsy  stayed  but  two 
days  in  Boston,  and  Mrs.  Bruce,  having  had 
a  very  good  time  in  her  absence,  was  graciously 
pleased  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  when  she 
returned. 

"Was  your  shopping  successful?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  we  did  real  well,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
didn't  know  there  was  so  many  good  ready- 
made  things  folks  could  get." 

Mrs.  Bruce  smiled  leniently. 

"Rather  awful  things,"  she  said,  "but  I 
suppose  they  did  very  well  for  your  friend 
from  the  country." 

"Yes,  she'll  look  real  good  in  'em  after  she's 
fitted  to  a  few  alterations.  Miss  Maynard  's 
been  gettin'  some  ready-made  ones." 

"She  has?"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Bruce  with  in 
terest. 

"Yes;  they  showed  'em  to  me,  some  of  'em, 
when  I  went  to  Mrs.  Nixon's;  and  they're 
elegant." 

"Oh, yes ;  with  Miss  Maynard's  pocket-book, 
258 


Betsy's  Appeal 


one  can  find  very  good  things;  and  since 
they're  coming  here  for  the  rest  of  the  season, 
she  does  n't  need  much.  You  say  Mrs.  Nixon 
wired  for  the  rooms?" 

"Yes,  right  off;  and  they  think  they'll  get 
here  Saturday." 

That  evening  Irving  Bruce,  descrying  Betsy 
stooping  over  her  sweet-pea  bed,  joined  her. 

"How  is  Miss  Vincent?"  he  inquired. 

Betsy  rose  and  regarded  him. 

"Set  a  spell,"  he  continued,  drawing  her 
down  upon  a  garden-seat. 

"I  haven't  got  anything  to  tell  you,  Mr. 
Irving." 

"Nonsense,"  remarked  the  young  man 
easily.  "Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that  you 
went  to  town  to  get  clothes  for  somebody? 
Mrs.  Bruce  told  me  that.  Of  course  it  was 
Rosalie.  Whose  gift?  Yours  or  Mr.  Der- 
went's?" 

"Mr.  Derwent's,"  responded  Betsy  after  a 
reluctant  pause. 

"I  hope  they  are  proper  for  the  seashore." 

"They're  real  simple,  and  pretty,  and  good; 
just  like  her." 

"Tell  me  what  you  bought." 

Irving  brought  his  sun-burned  face  close 
259 


Clever  Betsy 


to  Betsy's  and  hung  his  hand  over  the  back 
of  the  seat  close  to  her  shoulder. 

Betsy  pressed  her  lips  together. 

"If  you  don't  I'll  hug  you,  and  Mrs.  Bruce 
is  up  there  on  the  piazza,  looking." 

"Mr.  Irving,  behave  yourself!" 

Betsy  essayed  to  rise,  and  was  brought  back 
swiftly  by  the  strong  hand. 

"I  can  see  her  in  everything  if  you'll  just 
describe  it." 

"Well,"  said  Betsy  reluctantly,  casting  a 
glance  toward  the  piazza,  "we  got  her  a  black 
lace." 

"Too  old,  I  should  think." 

"No,  no,  't  ain't,"  Betsy  forgot  her  reluc 
tance  in  defense.  "It's  sort  o'  half  low  neck 
and  has  fluffy  things  on  it  —  real  pretty." 

"What  else?" 

"A  white  lace  one  —  Oh,  she  does  look  just 
like  an  angel  in  it,  Mr.  Irving!" 

The  speaker  suddenly  remembered  herself, 
and  her  lips  snapped  together. 

Irving  frowned  slightly.  "Well,  Mr.  Der- 
went  is  blowing  himself." 

"He  gave  me  five  hundred  dollars,  Air. 
Irving,  and  told  me  to  fit  that  child  out!" 
Betsy  could  not  resist  imparting  her  joyous 

260 


Betsy's  Appeal 


news.  "Oh,"  —  she  heaved  a  long,  eloquent 
sigh,  —  "I've  had  one  good  time,  I  tell  you! 
I  wanted  to  stay  longer,  but  I  promised  Mrs. 
Bruce;  and  the  everyday  things  she  can  get 
herself.  She's  smart,  and  knows <  that  the 
plainest  things  look  best  on  her;  because  the 
Creator's  made  her  so  she  don't  need  any 
trimmin'  up.  I  went  to  Mrs.  Nixon's  house, 
and  there  they  were  dressin'  Miss  Maynard 
out  of  a  bottomless  purse;  but  I'll  match  my 
girl  against  her." 

Irving,  attentive,  watched  the  narrow  face 
glow.  r 

"And  where  did  you  say  Rosalie  is  living?" 
"I  did  n't  say,"  replied  Betsy  with  a  return 
of  caution. 

"Not  at  Mrs.  Nixon's,  I  suppose." 
"Well,  I  guess  not.  While  I  was  examinin' 
Miss  Maynard's  finery,  I  was  glad  I  did  n't 
have  a  pain  in  my  head  so  that  they  could  see 
my  thoughts.  If  they'd  known  Mr.  Derwent's 
money  was  buyin'  another  girl's  outfit  they'd 
'a'  needed  a  smellin'  bottle.  You  know,  Mr. 
Irving,  I  thought  perhaps  Miss  Maynard 
comin'  into  that  fortune  would  'a'  liked  to  help 
Rosalie  in  some  way.  It  really  surprised  me 
'cause  she  did  n't." 

261 


Clever  Betsy 


"Miss  Maynard's  head  is  in  the  clouds  for 
the  present.  Very  likely  when  she  comes  to 
earth  she  will  be  more  interested  in  other 
people." 

Betsy  looked  at  the  speaker  affectionately. 
"You  always  was  a  generous  boy,"  she  said. 
"Never  could  be  hired  to  knock  anybody." 

"I'm  going  to  knock  you,  right  off  this  seat, 
if  you  don't  tell  me  without  any  beating  about 
the  bush,  where  Rosalie  Vincent  is.  I  expect 
to  go  to  Boston  in  a  few  days.  I  might  help 
her  choose  her  hats." 

Betsy's  eyes  met  his  earnestly.  "Now,  look 
here.  You've  been  as  good  as  gold  ever  since 
we  left  the  lake.  You  have  n't  asked  me  a 
question." 

"That's  why  you  ought  to  answer  me  now, 
instantly." 

"I'm  not  goin'  to  tell  you."  Betsy  spoke 
deliberately.  "Rosalie's  got  to  make  her  own 
way  in  the  world.  Mr.  Derwent  knows  that 
outside  appearances  count  for  a  lot  in  her  line 
o'  business,  and  he's  givin'  her  this  outfit,  just 
as  he'd  give  a  boy  a  little  capital  to  start  him. 
She's  goin'  to  try  an  experiment,  and  I  ain't 
goin'  to  say  anything  about  it.  It's  an  idea 
o'  my  own,  and  if  it  turns  out  all  right,  I'll 

262 


Betsy's  Appeal 


believe  my  good  angel  put  it  into  my  head; 
but  if  folks  like  you  —  young  men  —  play  the 
fool,  it  won't  turn  out  well;  and  then  I '11  know 
it  was  a  caper  o'  my  bad  angel.  You  need  n't 
scowl  and  look  as  if  you'd  eat  up  any  other 
man  who  looks  at  her.  You  're  the  one  o'  the 
lot  I'm  most  afraid  of,  and  you're  very  likely 
to  see  her." 

Irving  sprang  to  his  feet  as  if  he  had  been 
shot. 

"Betsy,  have  you  —  is  it  possible — "  he 
nearly  choked  in  his  excitement  —  "have  you 
found  her  some  place  on  the  stage  —  vaude 
ville?" 

Miss  Foster,  after  her  first  jump,  swallowed, 
and  looked  at  him  in  exasperation. 

"Will  you  sit  down  and  not  scare  a  body 
into  a  fit?" 

"Have  you,  I  say!"  he  demanded  fiercely. 
"  I  '11  see  Derwent  to-night  if  he 's  had  anything 
to  do  with  this." 

"For  the  land's  sake,  Irving  Bruce,  you're 
actin'  like  a  natural-born  fool  —  but  I  love 
you  for  it!"  The  gray  eyes  sparkled.  "Sit 
down  on  this  bench." 

He  obeyed,  but  his  eyes  still  devoured  her. 

"  I  can't  leave  Mrs.  Bruce,  can  I  ?  If  Rosalie 
263 


Clever  Betsy 


went  on  the  stage  I'd  have  to  go  with  her, 
would  n't  I  ?  Do  act  as  if  you  had  some  com 


mon  sense." 


"You  frightened  me,"  said  Irving. 

"Well,  you  nearly  gave  me  heart  disease." 

Irving  did  not  smile.  His  expression  made 
it  difficult  for  his  companion  to  proceed;  but 
there  was  no  time  like  the  present.  She  seldom 
had  opportunity  to  talk  with  the  young  man 
alone,  and  Robert  was  amusing  his  hostess  on 
the  porch. 

"As  I  said  a  minute  ago,  Mr.  Irving,  you're 
a  generous  boy,  and  always  were.  You're 
likely  to  see  Rosalie  Vincent  sooner  or  later, 
and  you'll  be  put  to  the  test.  You  know  in 
your  inmost  heart  that  you  don't  care  a  thing 
about  her  except  the  way  you  would  a  pretty 
picture,  or  statue,  that  you'd  come  across. 
You  don't  know  her  at  all  in  the  first  place, 
so  any  attention  you  pay  her  would  be  just 
for  your  own  selfish  fun,  and  you've  said  so 
much  to  me  about  her,  that  I'm  afraid  you 
will  seek  her  if  you  get  the  chance  —  just  for 
her  beauty,  poor  child." 

Irving's  thoughts  had  flown  back  to  the 
canyon,  and  a  train  of  memories  stirred  him. 
,    "  She  will  attract  a  great  many  besides  me," 

264 


Betsy's  Appeal 


he  said.  "If  there's  ever  any  need  of  shielding 
her,  I  sha'n't  stand  aside,  you  maybe  sure." 
"You're  the  only  one  she  needs  shielding 
from,  Mr.  Irving."  Betsy  spoke  with  slow, 
gentle  emphasis.  "I  tell  Rosalie  to  be  mejum, 
but  she  don't  know  how.  It  is  n't  in  her.  I  'd 
feel  meaner  'n  pusley  to  say  this  to  you,  if 
't  wan't  meaner  not  to.  She's  set  you  up,  the 
way  a  girl  will,  in  a  special  niche  of  her  heart. 
How  she  come  to  I  can't  see,  'cause  she  never 
talked  with  you  more'n  once  or  twice.  She 
don't  know  that  I  notice  this,  but  she's  shown 
it  a  number  o'  times  the  last  two  days.  Now 
she  has  n't  had  a  chance  yet  to  know  men 
worth  knowin' ;  and  if  you  happen  to  meet  her 
anywhere,  and  just  treat  her  pleasant  but 
real  formal,  she'll  get  over  this  fancy  —  it's 
all  just  a  part  of  her  poetry  and  the  notions 
she  lives  among  all  the  time,  in  her  own 
thoughts.  It  don't  amount  to  anything,  now; 
but  it  could  if  you  acted  selfish.  I  told  you 
before  that  I  love  her,  Mr.  Irving.  She  has  n't 
got  a  person  to  take  care  of  her  but  me.  I  'm 
glad  she's  a  girl  all  out  o'  the  question  for 
you,  because  Mrs.  Bruce  would  never  think 
she  was  good  enough,  and  would  make  her 
unhappy;  and  as  long  as  she  is  out  o'  the 

265 


Clever  Betsy 


question  I  ain't  afraid  to  ask  the  son  o'  your 
father  and  mother,  the  two  finest  people  I 
ever  knew  in  my  life,  to  keep  away  from  her; 
not  flatter  her;  not  show  her  any  attention. 
She's  as  modest  as  a  daisy,  and  got  no  more 
worldly  experience  than  one.  Lots  o'  men 
admire  that  kind  a  little  while,  and  then  tread 
on  it  without  even  noticin'  that  they  have." 

Irving  during  this  speech  had  sunk  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  his 
outstretched  pumps.  Betsy  regarded  him 
anxiously  through  a  moment  of  silence. 

"Do  you  ever  wish  we  were  back  in  the 
canyon?"  he  asked.  "I  do." 

"Mr.  Irving!"  she  ejaculated.  "I  don't 
believe  you've  heard  a  word  I  've  been  saying." 

"I  have;  but  I  doubt  most  of  it.  You're 
in  love  with  me  yourself,  Betsy.  That 's  what 's 
the  matter  with  you." 

"H'm.  Perhaps  I  might  be  if  I  could  forget 
how  cross  you  were  when  you  were  teethin' 
and  how  you  tore  your  clothes,  and  got  all 
stuck  up  with  jam.  Your  mother  trusted  me 
perfectly.  Whenever  I  carried  you  to  her  and 
said,  'Please  spank  him,  ma'am,'  she  always 
did  it  without  a  question."  Betsy's  tone  was 
vainglorious. 

266 


Betsy's  Appeal 


Irving  threw  back  his  head,  and  his  ringing 
laugh  caused  Mrs.  Bruce  to  look  wonderingly 
down  the  garden. 

"An  absolute  monarchy,  eh?"  he  responded. 
"And  you  have  the  habit  so,  you  want  to 
tyrannize  over  me  still?" 

"Don't  leave  me  with  the  feelin'  that  you 
want  to  shirk  out  of  it  by  foolin',"  pursued 
Betsy,  refusing  to  smile,  and  rising,  conscious 
of  Mrs.  Bruce's  gaze. 

Irving  rose  also  and  threw  his  arm  tenderly 
around  her  thin  shoulders  as  they  moved 
toward  the  house. 

She  tried  to  escape,  but  the  gentle  vise 
held. 

"You've  made  me  feel  very  sentimental, 
referring  as  you  have  to  our  past,  Betsy,"  he 
said  emotionally.  "Know'st  thou  these  verses, 
beginning  — 

"' There  is  no  friend  like  the  old  friend,  who  has  shared 
our  morning  days  '  (and  teething  nights!)  " 

"Please,  Mr.  Irving!" 

With  a  desperate  wriggle,  Betsy  escaped, 
and  moved  swiftly  around  toward  the  back 
door  of  the  cottage. 

"Did  she  refuse  you?"  called  Nixie,  as  his 
267 


Clever  Betsy 


friend  stretched  portentously,  and  then  came 
on  up  the  steps. 

"Absolutely." 

"It  must  be  a  habit  of  hers,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Bruce.  "Captain  Salter  has  been  returning 
to  the  charge  for  years,  so  I've  heard  lately." 

"Great  work!"  declared  Nixie  with  zest. 
"He  looks  like  a  sea-dog  that  can  hold  on. 
I  must  have  some  fun  with  the  great  and  only 
Betsy." 

"If  you  do,"  remarked  Irving  lazily,  "I'll 
have  some  fun  with  you  that  will  make  you 
an  interesting  invalid  for  the  rest  of  the  sum 


mer." 


"Highty-tightyl"  exclaimed  Nixie.  "I  be 
lieve  sonny  is  in  earnest,  Mrs.  Bruce." 

"Doubtless,"  she  returned,  with  some  bit 
terness.  "Betsy  has. a  true  knight." 

"I  am  in  earnest,"  said  Irving  quietly. 
"Betsy's  private  affairs  are  as  much  to  be 
respected  as  your  mother's.  Hands  off." 

"I  spoke  to  her  about  the  captain  once," 
said  Mrs.  Bruce.  "He'd  been  as  much  as 
making  love  to  her  under  my  very  eyes,  and 
I  put  some  innocent  question,  but  — "  the 
speaker  shrugged  her  shoulders  — "  she  snubbed 


me." 


268 


Betsy's  Appeal 


"Quite  right,"  said  Irving  promptly. 

"The  man's  crazy,"  declared  Mrs.  Bruce, 
"if  he  thinks  Betsy  could  be  persuaded  to 
leave  us,  and  go  and  drudge  for  him.  Of  course 
that's  all  he  wants  her  for;  and  she  is  clever. 
She  knows  it." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  Irving 
mildly.  "Old  Hiram's  in  love  with  her.  To 
his  eyes  she  looks  just  the  same  as  she  did 
when  they  went  to  school  together." 

"He  shall  have  her  then!"  ejaculated  Nixie 
enthusiastically.  "I  shall  make  it  my  pleasure, 
in  slight,  unostentatious  ways,  to  throw  them 
together." 

"Wretch!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bruce.  "De 
stroyer  of  homes!  Do  you  want  to  give  me 
nervous  prostration?" 

"Did  you  ever  try  to  throw  Betsy  anywhere 
she  did  n't  want  to  go?"  inquired  Irving. 

"That's  my  comfort,"  groaned  Mrs.  Bruce. 
"  She  looked  at  Captain  Salter  as  if  she  could 
eat  him  when  he  told  us  what  he  had  named 
the  boat." 

Nixie  laughed.  "She's  a  character,  isn't 
she  ?  I  'm  not  far  from  in  love  with  her  myself." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A   RAINY   EVENING 

THE  various  and  sundry  hatchets  which  had 
been  brandished  in  the  mental  atmosphere 
between  the  natural  guardians  of  those  two 
heroes,  Irving  Bruce  and  Robert  Nixon,  were 
all  decently  buried  by  the  time  the  Yellow 
stone  party  were  about  to  be  reunited  at 
Fairport. 

Mrs.  Bruce  had  quite  the  glow  of  a  hostess 
as  she  placed  flowers  in  the  rooms  of  the  ex 
pected  ones;  and  Mrs.  Nixon  had  invited  the 
Bruce  household,  of  which  her  son  was  to  con 
tinue  to  be  one,  to  dine  with  them  at  the  inn 
on  the  evening  of  their  arrival. 

They  had  a  cosy  corner  of  the  dining-room 
to  themselves  when  the  time  came. 

Helen  Maynard  looked  charming  in  an 
evening  gown  of  pale  pink  chiffon.  The  quiet 
little  chrysalis  familiar  to  their  Yellowstone 
stage  had  yielded  up  a  butterfly  upon  which 
Mrs.  Nixon  looked  with  pride  as  the  work  of 
her  hands,  noting  with  satisfaction  the  admir 
ing  curiosity  in  the  eyes  of  the  three  men. 

270 


A  Rainy  Evening 


Even  Helen's  demureness  was  not  proof 
against  the  radiance  of  her  content  to-night 
as  they  took  their  places  at  the  table.  She 
was  seated  between  the  two  young  men, 
whose  coats  of  tan  provoked  much  comment 
from  the  newcomers. 

When  they  had  taken  their  places,  Robert 
looked  about  with  his  usual  cheerfulness. 

"All  present  or  accounted  for  but  Hebe," 
he  declared.  "It  seems  as  if  she  ought  to 
materialize  and  bring  us  our  soup." 

Irving  gazed  at  him.  "  You  saw  nothing  un 
fitting,  then,  in  that  office  for  her?  " 

The  speaker's  manner  was  always  quiet,  but 
his  boon  companion  recognized  the  tone. 

"Brute  of  my  heart!"  ejaculated  the  latter, 
"'I  would  not  live  alway,'  but  a  little  longer, 
please!  You'll  pardon  the  natural  yearnings 
of  an  affectionate  nature.  I  can't  help  missing 
lovely  Hebe." 

"There  is  a  more  familiar  face  than  Miss 
Vincent's  that  we  are  missing,"  said  Helen. 
She  turned  to  Mrs.  Bruce.  "How  is  Clever 
Betsy?" 

"Very  well  indeed,  thank  you,"  returned 
that  lady.  "  She  is  evidently  more  than  grate 
ful  to  be  on  her  native  heath  again.  I  think 

271 


Clever  Betsy 


I  never  knew  Betsy  in  such  good  spirits  as  she 
has  shown  the  past  week." 

"I  noticed  it  in  Boston,"  said  Helen. 
"When  she  came  to  see  us  she  seemed  so 
happy.  She  said  the  best  part  of  any  trip, 
no  matter  how  delightful,  was  getting  home 
again." 

While  Helen  Maynard  spoke,  she  had  a 
habit  of  turning  at  short  intervals  to  Mr.  Der- 
went  as  if  to  include  him  in  all  she  said;  and 
such  was  his  ability  to  understand  her,  that 
his  eyes  sent  her  an  acknowledgment  even 
when  there  was  no  occasion  for  him  to  speak. 

This  time,  however,  he  did  answer. 

"I  don't  wonder  at  Betsy.  I  like  the  looks 
of  this  place  very  much  myself." 

"And  the  taste  of  it,"  added  Robert,  eating 
his  soup  with  a  seaman's  appetite.  "This  is 
very  good,  for  a  hotel.  For  myself,  I  live  in  a 
private  family,  and  I  pity  you  all.  Mrs.  Bruce 
has  a  cook  with  whom  I  'm  liable  to  elope." 

"I'll  show  her  off  to  you  some  day  soon," 
said  Mrs.  Bruce  graciously. 

Betsy  Foster  was  meanwhile  enjoying  the 
unwonted  sole  possession  of  the  cottage.  While 
she  straightened  the  chaos  in  the  young  men's 

272 


A  Rainy  Evening 


rooms,  a  smile  was  on  her  lips,  and  a  light 
of  excitement  burned  in  her  eyes. 

When  all  was  neat  within  doors  and  she 
had  eaten  her  simple  supper,  she  went  out 
on  the  veranda,  and  seating  herself  in  the  best 
rocker,  rocked,  and  hummed  one  of  Robert's 
most  abandoned  two-steps. 

While  she  was  thus  enjoying  the  dolce  far 
niente  of  her  unobserved  evening,  a  light  rain 
began  to  fall. 

"I  don't  know  as  I'm  sorry  if  it  does  rain," 
she  murmured.  "It'll  keep  'em  in  the  house, 
and  I  want  'em  all  to  be  there.  I'm  sure  it'll 
please  Mr.  Derwent." 

While  she  thus  reflected,  a  square-shoul 
dered,  sturdy,  masculine  figure  entered  the 
gate  and  came  up  the  garden-path. 

Betsy  showed  no  surprise  at  his  appearance. 
The  pleasant  light  continued  in  her  eyes  as 
she  arose. 

"How  do  you  do,  Hiram?"  she  said,  as  he 
came  up  the  steps.  "Take  the  big  chair." 

"Well!" 

The  sea-blue  gaze  scrutinized  her  as  the 
guest's  hard  hand  held  hers  until  she  jerked 
it  away  with  decision. 

"Take  the  big  chair,"  she  repeated. 
273 


Clever  Betsy 


:4Ye'd  rather  give  me  that  than  your  hand, 
eh?"  returned  Hiram,  and  he  seated  himself 
on  the  edge  of  the  flexible  wicker. 

"Sit  back,  and  take  comfort,"  said  Betsy, 
returning  to  her  rocker. 

Captain  Salter  obeyed,  moving  cautiously. 

"Well,  travelin'  does  improve  folks,  they 
say.  I  can  see  you're  improved,  Betsy." 

"You  thought  there  was  need  of  it,  did 
you?" 

"Well,  I  should  think  so!  I  knew  the  min 
ute  I  got  your  note  this  afternoon  that  you  was 
beginnin'  to  get  more  reasonable.  To  have 
you  do  somethin'  real  decent  like  askin'  a  feller 
to  come  and  see  you,  showed  that  you  was 
broadenin'  out,  Betsy,  broadenin'  out.  Folks 
all  gone  to  the  inn  to  dinner,  eh?" 

"Yes.  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  chance 
for  me  to  hear  some  o'  the  town  gossip." 

"'Tis.  Real  good.  It's  all  over  Fairport 
that  you  and  me's  goin'  to  be  married  this 
fall."  Betsy  stopped  rocking.  "The  name  o' 
the  boat  kind  o'  started  it  up  — " 

"You  might  have  known  it  would,  Hiram 
Salter!"  said  Betsy  accusingly. 

"O'  course  I  did.  What  d'ye  s'pose  I  named 
her  for?" 

274 


A  Rainy  Evening 


"'Twas  a  mean  trick,  Hiram!" 

Captain  Salter  changed  the  blade  of  grass 
he  was  chewing  to  the  other  side  of  his  mouth. 
"Why,  certainly,"  he  responded.  "Ye  did  n't 
s'pose  I  would  n't  descend  to  mean  tricks, 
did  ye?  We  heard  even  when  we  was  goin'  to 
school  that  all's  fair  in  love  and  war." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  a 
baffled  gaze,  then  she  spoke. 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  she  said  de 
fiantly.  "Everybody  that  knows  me  knows  I 
ain't  ever  goin'  to  marry  anybody.  I  would  n't 
anyway  now  —  after  you  namin'  the  boat.  Do 
you  s'pose  I'd  marry  a  man  that  shows  right 
out  plain  that  he's  a  tyrant?" 

Captain  Salter  emitted  a  low  rumbling 
laugh,  and  sat  quiet  in  his  all-embracing  chair. 

"Tell  me  what's  doin'  in  town,"  asked 
Betsy  in  a  different  tone.  "How's  Mrs. 
Pogram  gettin'  along  without  Rosalie?" 

"Oh,  she's  havin'  a  fierce  time.  She  no 
sooner  gets  settled  with  somebody  to  help 
her,  than  Loomis  upsets  everything  with  some 
of  his  fool  doin's." 

"I'm  goin'  to  surprise  you,"  said  Betsy, 
slowly,  "more'n  you  ever  was  surprised  in 
your  life,  Hiram." 

275 


ma 
"You  never 

"Yes,"  in 
pinned  up  c 
you'll  tell  ir 
what  with  ] 
you've  done 
that'll  beat 
the  Arabiar 
more,  you  v* 
head  cut  ofl 
way." 

"Hiram," 
you   think 
there  ?" 

"I  think 

"What  gc 

"That,  ai 

Betsy  starea,   a  nine  uibctppumtcu  at 
admirer's  foreknowledge. 

276 


A  Rainy  Evening 


"Has  Mr.  Irving  told  you  — "  she  began. 

"  Irving  has  n't  had  a  chance  to  tell  me  much. 
That  Nixie  feller  talks  to  beat  the  clapper  of 
a  bell." 

"But  you  like  him,  don't  you,  Hiram? 
He's  an  awful  nice,  kind  boy." 

"I  guess  he  will  be  when  I  get  him  trained." 
returned  Hiram  equably.  "He's  beginnin'  to 
understand  that  I'm  the  cap'n  o'  the  Betsy." 

"If  you  knew  how  disagreeable  that  sounds, 
you'd  never  say  it  in  my  presence!" 

Hiram  lifted  the  sea-blue  eyes,  and  fixed 
hers  with  their  gaze. 

"That  sentence  has  got  more  music  in  it," 
he  declared  slowly,  "than  any  other  in  the 
English  language.  I'll  be  good  to  you,  Betsy 
—  as  good  as  a  man  knows  how  to  be  to  a 
woman.  You've  taken  care  o'  folks  for  the 
last  twenty  years.  I  want  the  job  o'  takin' 
care  o'  you  the  next  twenty." 

He  looked  very  manly  as  he  said  it,  his 
strong  figure  leaning  square  shoulders  toward 
her.  A  swift  vision  chased  through  her  brain 
of  her  precious  boy  henceforth  busy  in  the 
bank  by  day,  and  in  society  by  night;  of  Mrs. 
Bruce's  increasing  querulousness  and  exac 
tions,  stretching  out  into  an  indefinite  future. 

277 


Clever  Betsy 


The  captain's  fireside,  and  herself  mistress 
of  his  hearth  and  home,  suddenly  showed  with 
an  attraction  she  had  never  felt  before ;  as  if  it 
were  a  haven  of  shelter  from  that  monotonous 
other  future,  with  its  stern  sense  of  duty,  and 
its  occasional  high-lights. 

"I  believe  you  caPlate  to  tire  me  out, 
Hiram." 

"  Should  n't  wonder,"  he  returned,  leaning 
back  again  and  biting  his  blade  of  grass. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  me  about  Rosalie?" 
said  Betsy.  "What  do  you  know?" 

"Why,  Irving  told  me  that  you  found  her 
out  there,  and  wheedled  some  old  gent  into 
payin'  her  way  back  East  again,  and  that  she 
was  in  Boston  now,  and  that  you're  keepin' 
an  eye  on  her." 

"Old  gentleman!"  repeated  Betsy  indig 
nantly.  "If  you  call  yourself  one,  then  he  is. 
He's  just  about  your  age." 

"  I  'm  just  the  right  age  to  be  a  bridegroom," 
responded  Captain  Salter  promptly. 

"I  hope  Mr.  Irving  didn't  say  anything 
about  this  before  Mr.  Nixon.  It's  a  secret." 

"No.  He  got  a  chance  at  me  alone  while  we 
was  mendin'  a  sail.  He  told  me  mum  was  the 
word.  I  '11  bet  a  cookie,  Betsy,  that  now  you  've 

278 


A  Rainy  Evening 


got  Rosalie  in  Boston  you  don't  know  what 
to  do  with  her." 

Betsy  gave  her  one-sided  smile,  and  Hiram 
continued:  "Irving  says  you  think  a  sight  o' 
the  girl;  and  I've  been  sorto'  cogitatin'  about 
the  whole  business ;  and  I  finally  made  up  my 
mind  to  tell  ye  that  if  ye  want  her  to  live  with 
us9  I  have  n't  a  mite  of  objection/' 

The  speaker  could  see  by  his  lady-love's 
countenance  that  this  bait  glittered. 

"I  had  thought,  Hiram,"  she  returned  in 
gratiatingly,  "  that  seein'  you  and  Rosalie  are 
such  good  friends,  you  might  let  Mrs.  Bachel- 
der  move  over  to  your  place;  then  Rosalie  could 
go  there.  " 

Captain  Salter  gave  his  rare,  broad  smile. 

"My!  but  you're  a  good  planner,  ain't 
you!" 

"Would  you  —  would  you  think  of  it, 
Hiram?"  she  asked,  with  some  timidity. 

"Not  if  I  wanted  to  keep  real  well,  I 
would  n't.  Now  don't  waste  time  in  foolishnes, 
Betsy.  I've  ben  gettin'  ready  for  ye  for  years, 
and  I  am  ready.  Everything's  taut  and  ship 
shape,  and  I've  got  a  margin  that'll  let 
Rosalie  in,  easy.  We'll  be  as  cosy  as  bugs  in 
rugs  next  winter." 

279 


Clever  Betsy 


Captain  Salterwas  an  experienced  fisherman. 
The  expression  on  Betsy's  face  was  such  that 
he  believed  the  bait  was  swallowed. 

"If  obstinacy  would  get  folks  into  the 
kingdom,"  she  observed,  "your  chances  for 
bein'  an  archangel  would  be  real  good,  Hiram 
Salter." 

He  let  the  reel  spin,  and  the  coveted  fish  dart 
away  with  the  line. 

"I  always  did  hang  onto  an  idea  like  a 
puppy  to  a  root,"  he  said.  "It's  kind  o'  in 
grained  in  my  nature;  but  you'll  know  best, 
Betsy.  You've  got  to  be  'tarnally  unselfish  to 
somebody  in  order  to  be  happy;  and  you  think 
it  over.  See  if  't  ain't  about  time  you  changed 
the  place  and  kept  the  pain." 

He  rose,  and  Betsy  did  also.  For  a  wonder 
she  did  n't  answer  him. 

"Good-night,"  he  said.  "It  was  real  clever 
of  you  to  let  me  come  this  evenin'." 

He  did  not  even  take  her  hand  at  parting. 
He  lifted  the  shabby  yachting-cap  and  looked 
at  her  narrow,  inscrutable  face.  "Good-night," 
he  said  again,  and  was  gone  down  the  garden- 
path. 

Betsy  remained  some  minutes  standing  in 
the  same  position. 

280 


A  Rainy  Evening 


"I  meant  to  ask  him  a  hundred  questions." 
The  reflection  rose  at  last  from  the  confusion 
of  her  thoughts.  "He's  such  a  gump  it  makes 
it  hard  to  talk  to  him;  keeps  goin'  back  to  say 
the  same  thing  over  and  over,  just  like  a  poll- 
parrot,  till  he  puts  me  out  so  I  don't  know 
what  I  did  want  to  say  to  him." 

As  she  went  into  the  cottage,  the  picture  of 
the  upright  figure,  and  the  clean,  bronzed, 
weather-beaten  face  went  with  her. 

The  appealing  blue  of  Rosalie's  eyes  seemed 
to  plead  with  her.  "Oh,  if  I  only  knew  how 
she's  gettin'  along!"  thought  Betsy. 

Captain  Salter  was  right  to  smile  into  the 
darkness  as  he  plodded  down  the  street.  The 
fish  was  darting  here  and  there  through  the 
unresisting  water  after  its  fright,  still  proudly 
conscious  of  its  own  volition ;  but  the  bait  was 
swallowed.  The  fisherman  believed  it  was  a 
matter  of  time,  now. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   WHITE   DOVE 

THE  dinner-party  at  the  inn  continued  to  be 
a  merry  one. 

"I'm  sorry  it  rains,"  said  Mrs.  Bruce, 
looking  at  the  dewy  panes  when  at  last  they 
rose  from  table.  "I  wanted  you  to  see  how 
pleasant  the  outlook  is  from  the  verandas." 

The  proprietor  passed  near  them  as  they 
moved  into  the  spacious  living-room  of  the  inn. 

"Why  could  n't  you  have  a  pleasant  evening 
for  us,  Mr.  Beebe?"  asked  Mrs.  Bruce. 

"Sorry  I  couldn't,"  he  returned.  "I'm 
goin'  to  make  up  for  it  the  best  I  can,  though. 
I've  got  an  entertainment  for  you  if  you'll 
take  your  friends  to  that  other  end  o'  the 


room.': 


"Music!"  groaned  Irving.  "I  feel  in  my 
bones  that  somebody  is  going  to  sing.  Us  for 
the  porch,  Nixie." 

This  party  had  been  last  to  leave  the  dining- 
room,  and  already  a  large  group  of  guests  had 
gathered  in  the  living-room,  and  were  waiting. 
282 


The  White  Dove 


Irving  was  already  taking  long,  quiet  strides 
away  from  the  scene  of  danger  when  Robert 
caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Heavens,  Brute!"  he  gasped.  "Look 
there!  Is  it  —  or  is  n't  it!" 

Irving  turned,  and  beheld  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room  Rosalie  Vincent,  dressed  in  white, 
standing  quietly,  looking  about  her  and 
smiling  a  little  as  if  in  question  of  her  audience, 
and  wondering  what  she  should  do  for  them. 

living's  heart  gave  the  most  acrobatic 
bound  of  its  existence.  He  stood  fixed  in  his 
tracks. 

"Do  you  see  who  that  is,  mother  ?"  in 
quired  Robert,  leaning  over  the  ladies. 

Mrs.  Bruce's  busy  eyes  sought  her  lorgnette. 

Helen  Maynard  was  first  to  realize  who  it 
was  that  stood  there  tall  and  fair  in  the 
fleecy  white  gown,  with  the  golden  coronet 
of  her  hair  shining  as  her  only  ornament,  and 
her  bare  throat  and  arms,  round  and  slender 
against  a  dark  background. 

"Most  extraordinary!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Nixon.  "I  never  saw  such  a  resemblance." 

She  looked  over  at  her  brother  in  a  neighbor 
ing  chair.  He  was  smoothing  his  mustache; 
and  he  nodded  at  her  in  reply. 

283 


Clever  Betsy 


"Why,  it  is  Hebe!"  declared  Robert, 
and  his  voice  cracked  high.  "I  never  saw 
anything  so  lovely  in  my  life." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Bruce.  She  looked  at  Irving.  His  face  was 
tense  and  scowling.  "Tell  me,  Irving,"  she 
demanded  in  low  tones.  "How  in  the  world 
did  she  get  here?' 

"How  should  I  know?"  he  returned;  and 
so  irefully  that  Mrs.  OBruce  stared  at  him. 
Why  in  the  world  should  it  make  him  angry  ? 

Irving's  heart  kept  on  its  quickened  pace. 
So  this  was  what  Betsy  meant  by  saying  he  was 
likely  to  see  her;  why  she  had  adjured  him  to 
keep  away  from  her.  She  had  said  —  Irving's 
eyes  devoured  the  white  dove;  but  Rosalie 
began  to  speak,  and  again  her  voice  was  mu 
sic. 

"I  scarcely  know  what  you  would  like  to 
hear  this  rainy  evening,"  she  said,  "but  I 
think  I  will  begin  by  going  back  to  first  prin 
ciples,  and  telling  you  the  story  of  Red  Riding 
Hood." 

Mrs.  Bruce's  lips  would  scarcely  meet. 

"What  self-possession!"  she  murmured; 
and  then  for  a  time  all  speculation  ceased,  for 
the  voice  of  a  child  began  to  narrate  the 

284 


The  White  Dove 


classic  in  the  language  of  a  child,  and  Rosalie 
carried  her  audience  with  her.  The  little  unob 
served  details  of  the  infantile  manner,  its 
occasional  abstractions  and  recalls  to  the 
subject,  the  catching  of  the  breath,  and  a 
myriad  other  peculiarities,  were  all  in  evi 
dence,  and  repeated  laughter  encouraged  the 
story-teller. 

Her  big-eyed  wonder  and  horror  when  she 
arrived  at  the  thrilling  crisis  where  the  wolf 
devoured  Red  Riding  Hood's  grandmother, 
"  before  she  even  had  time  to  put  on  her 
spectacles  to  see  who  it  was  ate  her  up," 
brought  down  the  house;  and  when  the  tale 
drew  to  a  close  the  clamor  of  tongues  gave 
witness  that  Rosalie  was  a  success. 

"Isn't  she  sweet!"  —  "Did  you  ever  hear 
anything  so  natural!"  sped  from  mouth  to 
mouth.  "What  a  lovely  creature  she  is,  and  so 
unaffected!" 

And  Rosalie  stood  there  looking  about, 
unconsciously  smiling,  and  tingling  to  her 
finger-tips  with  gladness  that  she  had  not 
disappointed  Mr.  Derwent,  whom  she  could 
see  sitting  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Beebe  came  laughingly  to  Mrs.  Bruce 
as  a  Fairport  summer  oracle. 

285 


Clever  Betsy 


"Say,  ain't  she  all  right?"  he  demanded 
triumphantly. 

"Where  — "  asked  Mrs.  Bruce,  stammering 
in  her  eagerness,  "how  did  you  happen  to  get 
her?" 

.  "'Twas  Clever  Betsy's  doings.  Didn't 
she  tell  you?  Seems  Miss  Vincent  wanted  a 
job  o'  this  kind  for  the  summer,  and  Betsy 
thought  she'd  work  me;  and  I'm  mighty  glad 
she  did.  The  girl  is  onto  her  job.  There,  she's 
goin'  to  give  another." 

The  speaker  hurried  off,  while  Rosalie's 
sweet  voice  began  on  one  of  the  Riley  favorites 
that  bring  tears  as  well  as  smiles. 

Mrs.  Bruce  did  not  hear  a  word.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  a  prey  to  conflicting  emo 
tions.  She  saw  Mr.  Derwent  rise  and  change 
his  position  to  one  in  the  background  of  those 
who  were  closest  to  the  speaker. 

Robert  Nixon  stooped  close  to  her  ear. 
"You  can't  lose  the  Yellowstone  party,"  he 
said,  "and  are  n't  you  the  proud  lady!" 
•  It  was  an  innocent  speech  on  the  part  of  the 
irresponsible  Nixie,  but  it  started  the  regulat 
ing  of  Mrs.  Bruce's  confused  thoughts.  She 
realized  that  he  was  referring  to  the  perspi 
cacity  with  which  she  had  recognized  Rosalie's 

286 


The  White  Dove 


gifts  in  an  unpromising  past,  and  the  munifi 
cence  with  which  she  had  cultivated  them; 
so  she  sat  on  a  fence,  as  it  were,  undecided  on 
which  side  to  get  down. 

She  viewed  the  faces  of  the  absorbed  lis 
teners,  and  considered  that  she  might  indeed 
accept  the  part  of  complacent  patroness  of 
this  young  heroine  of  the  evening;  might  ask 
no  questions,  raise  no  objections,  and  behave 
as  though  this  were  the  natural  and  expected 
outcome  of  her  own  perception  and  generos 
ity;  but  her  irritable  vanity  and  love  of  man 
aging  whispered  loudly  that  she  had  been  out 
witted. 

Who  had  loosed  Rosalie  from  the  engage 
ment  in  the  Park?  Who  had  paid  her  trans 
portation  east?  Who  had  housed  her  since? 
Who  had  procured  the  dainty  gown  in  which 
she  now  stood,  and  doubtless  a  trunk-full 
more  if  she  were  to  live  and  entertain  in  this 
inn,  as  Mr.  Beebe  had  plainly  stated  was  the 
case?  He  had  also  plainly  stated  the  answer 
to  these  various  phases  of  one  conundrum. 
Betsy  it  was,  of  course!  For  whom  else  had 
the  clever  one  deserted  her  post  of  duty  and 
gone  to  Boston  to  help  a  friend  from  the  coun 
try  to  buy  clothes?  Did  she  really  suppose 

287 


Clever  Betsy 


that  Mrs.  Bruce  was  too  dense  to  see  com 
pletely  through  this  millstone? 

Yes,  it  was  plain.  The  savings  of  a  life 
time  had  been  squandered  by  Betsy  Foster, 
who  must  be  in  her  dotage  to  have  done  such 
a  thing;  squandered  on  this  blonde  girl  with 
the  appealing,  darkening  eyes,  who  was  this 
minute  swaying  her  listeners  to  smiles  and 
tears. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Bruce  had  decided  on 
which  side  of  the  fence  to  get  down,  and  she 
did  so  with  energy;  and  glared  across  it  at 
Rosalie  and  her  poor  dupe,  the  once  clever 
Betsy. 

To  think  of  Betsy  being  such  a  traitor  as  not 
to  ask  her  mistress's  advice,  seeing  that  this 
was  Mrs.  Bruce's  affair,  and  she  would  be  the 
best  judge  of  what  was  right  to  do ! 

The  offended  woman  glanced  again  at  her 
son.  Rosalie  had  not  driven  the  unconscious 
frown  from  his  tense  face. 

"I'm  sure  he  suspects  the  same  thing,"  she 
reflected.  "He  is  so  loyal  to  Betsy,  he  will  be 
outraged." 

Helen  Maynard  was  another  who  heard  as 
little  of  Rosalie's  recitation  as  Mrs.  Bruce. 
Her  mental  questions  were  the  same.  Whose 

288 


The  White  Dove 


magic  wand  could  have  accomplished  this 
transformation  in  the  short  time? 

A  cloud  had  descended  on  the  heiress's 
evening.  She  remembered  the  questions  Irving 
Bruce  had  put  to  her  in  the  Look-Out  at  Old 
Faithful  Inn.  She  knew  then  that  he  was 
trying  to  probe  her  interest  in  her  unfortunate 
school  friend,  and  she  remembered  the  hard 
obstinacy  that  at  that  time  rose  in  her  heart 
against  Rosalie.  Why,  before  she  had  had 
time  to  find  herself  in  her  new  situation, 
should  she  begin  to  take  care  of  and  plan  for 
another  girl?  Her  first  suspicion  and  her  first 
look  when  she  recognized  Rosalie  this  evening 
had  been  directed  toward  Irving  Bruce;  but 
if  his  amazement  were  not  unfeigned,  he  was 
more  capable  in  histrionics  than  Rosalie  her 
self. 

It  was  a  Saturday  evening,  and  the  week-end 
influx  of  men  had  given  Proprietor  Beebe  an 
extra  satisfaction  in  the  presentation  of  a 
successful  novelty  on  this  rainy  night. 

Irving  Bruce  watched  the  faces  of  the  men, 
some  of  whom  he  knew,  and  others  not,  and 
glared  upon  all  alike  because  of  the  open 
admiration  in  their  eyes  for  his  white  dove  — 
more  and  more  his,  with  every  comment  that 

289 


Clever  Betsy 


he  saw  being  made  upon  her;  with  every  ring 
of  applause  bestowed  upon  her  efforts  to 
please. 

He  knew  what  would  happen  when  this  was 
over.  Men  as  well  as  women  would  press 
upon  the  young  girl  to  thank  her,  and  he  knew 
with  what  modest  gratitude  Rosalie  would 
accept  their  tributes.  He  could  see  Mr.  Beebe 
going  about  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd, 
proud  of  her  beauty  and  success,  and  knew 
that  he  would  introduce  to  her  anybody  who 
asked  it. 

Irving  drew  near  to  Mrs.  Bruce's  chair  and 
stooped  over. 

"Join  her  when  this  is  over,  will  you, 
Madama?  I  don't  believe  she  has  any  cha 
peron." 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  was  the  clear  response. 
"  I  think  I  never  saw  any  one  who  required  it 
less." 

Irving  bit  his  lip.  "Don't  speak  that  way," 
he  begged.  "You  know  they'll  begin  dancing 
after  this.  Beebe  will  make  it  possible  for 
every  Tom,  Dick,  and  Harry  to  dance  with 
her." 

"Which  will  be  very  much  to  her  taste,  I 
imagine,"  retorted  Mrs.  Bruce. 

290 


The  White  Dove 


Helen  Maynard  heard  the  whispered  col 
loquy.  She  knew  that  if,  at  the  close  of 
Rosalie's  efforts,  she  herself  should  go  forward 
and  join  the  girl,  stand  beside  her,  put  her  on 
a  par  with  the  guests,  Irving  Bruce  would 
never  forget  it  of  her. 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  her  heart 
beating  a  little  fast.  By  nature  she  loved 
power.  She  had  begun  to  taste  it  to-night. 
Aware  of  looking  her  best,  aware  of  the  sun 
shine;  of  approval  rained  upon  her  by  Mrs. 
Nixon  and  Mrs.  Bruce,  and  the  frank  admira 
tion  of  the  young  men,  there  was  a  still  sweeter 
triumph  for  her  in  the  expression  of  Mr.  Der- 
went's  eyes,  which  roved  over  her  faint  rose- 
color  with  an  amused  kindness  at  first,  but 
lingered  with  a  surprise  and  admiration 
which  she  treasured  eagerly.  Suddenly  all  was 
changed.  There  was  a  centre  of  attraction 
toward  which  all  eyes  gravitated.  Mr.  Der- 
went  had  risen  and  left  their  party  to  go 
nearer.  Irving  Bruce  believed  that  Rosalie 
needed  protection  from  a  too  violent  belle- 
ship.  Should  she  go  across  this  room,  and 
stand  as  a  sort  of  maid-of-honor  to  this  white 
and  gold  pauper  princess  ? 

Nixie  leaned  over  her  chair.  Again  his 
291 


Clever  Betsy 


random  words  hit  the  mark  and  might  carry 
the  day. 

"By  Jove!"  he  whispered  to  Helen,  "you 
two  girls  will  look  stunning  together.  You 
must  let  me  take  you  over  there  as  soon  as 
Hebe  gets  through." 

Helen's  lips  compressed  and  she  did  not 
reply. 

Rosalie  was  about  to  give  her  last  recita 
tion.  It  was  a  tender  sketch,  but  with  plenty 
of  comedy. 

A  mother  was  rocking  her  baby  and  singing 
him  to  sleep,  with  periodic  interruptions  from 
her  other  children  whom  she  dismissed  with 
varying  manner  and  replies. 

It  was  excellently  done.  Rosalie's  singing 
was  simple  and  natural,  her  voice  sympathetic, 
and  when  the  lullaby  finally  died  away,  and 
she  rose  and  bent  her  lovely  head  above  the 
baby  as  she  laid  him  in  an  imaginary  bed, 
there  were  plenty  of  dim  eyes  among  her  audi 
tors. 

The  absolute  stillness  broke  as  the  girl  rose 
and  smiled  again  upon  her  listeners,  —  the 
modest,  deprecatory  smile  the  Yellowstone 
party  knew  so  well. 

Irving's  eyes  shone.  "Mrs.  Nixon,"  said 
292 


The  White  Dove 


he  to  that  lady,  "may  I  take  you  over  to 
speak  to  Miss  Vincent?  She  is  in  strange  sur 
roundings  and  will  appreciate  it." 

"Well,"  replied  Mrs.  Nixon  with  a  sur 
prised  and  regal  lift  of  the  head,  "the  girl 
certainly  does  charming  work.  I  'm  quite 
willing  to  tell  her  so." 

She  rose  and  took  Irving's  offered  arm, 
and  they  moved  away.  Mrs.  Bruce  held  her 
lip  between  her  teeth;  her  face  burned,  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears  of  anger  and  mortifica 
tion. 

"Great  Scott!"  ejaculated  Robert,  still 
winking  hard,  "that  girl  made  my  nose  tingle. 
She  has  one  of  these  silly  voices,  you  know, 
that  go  way  in  and  knock  on  your  heart,  and 
if  you  try  to  steel  yourself,  it  just  opens  the 
door  and  walks  in  any  way.  Come  on,  let 's  all 
three  go  over  and  tell  her  she's  a  dandy. 
Look  at  'em  crowd  around  her!  She's  like  a 
drop  of  honey  in  fly-time." 

Mrs.  Bruce  and  Helen  rose  undecidedly. 

"Say,  look  at  Uncle  Henry!"  exclaimed 
Robert  with  a  joyous  squeak.  "Isn't  he 
Johnny-on-the-spot  though?  Those  chaps 
are  n't  going  to  have  it  all  their  own  way." 

Mrs.  Bruce  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her 
293 


Clever  Betsy 


lips,  for  she  too  saw  Mr.  Derwent  move  a  little 
in  advance  of  the  other  guests,  and  after 
holding  Rosalie's  hand  a  moment  in  con 
gratulation,  draw  it  within  his  arm  and  stand 
beside  her  while  the  kindly,  effusive  crowd 
drew  near. 

Helen  Maynard  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"That  settles  it,  Mrs.  Bruce,"  she  said.  "Mr. 
Derwent  has  evidently  decided  to  make  her  a 
success.  Very  nice  for  her,  is  n't  it?  We  may 
as  well  go  and  speak  to  her,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Bruce  moved  with  them  in  silence. 
Robert  glanced  at  her  with  comprehension. 

"Darn  Brute,"  he  thought.  "Why  did  he 
want  to  go  and  get  mother  in  wrong  here ! " 
To  his  simple  mind  it  was  difficult  to  grasp 
the  mental  processes  of  his  hostess ;  but  he  saw 
her  emotion.  "I'll  chance  a  jolly,  anyway," 
he  reflected. 

"You  must  feel  like  a  lady  Columbus,"  he 
said  to  Mrs.  Bruce,  with  an  admiring  air. 

"Oh,  no,  Nixie,"  she  rejoined.  "I  feel  like 
a  cipher.  Nothing  more." 

In  his  whole  life  Irving  had  never  slighted 
her  before.  For  that  girl's  sake  he  had  not 
hesitated  to  punish  her.  This  was  Betsy's 
doing,  —  all  her  doing. 

294 


The  White  Dove 


So  the  waves  of  heat  and  hurt  passed  over 
her  as  she  crossed  the  room  on  Nixie's  arm, 
seeing,  ahead  of  her,  Irving  devotedly  talking 
to  Mrs.  Nixon  as  they  moved  toward  the  star 
of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   DANCE 

WITH  the  approval  of  her  audience  ringing 
in  her  ears,  and  Mr.  Derwent's  kindly  presence 
and  support  to  bridge  over  the  awkward  first 
moments  that  assail  the  drawing-room  enter 
tainer  when  her  work  is  done,  Rosalie  might 
scarcely  have  been  able  to  keep  her  slender 
white  slippers  touching  earth  but  for  an  an 
chor,  a  ball  and  chain,  which  Betsy  had  in  all 
kindness  attached  to  her  on  the  last  evening 
they  spent  together. 

They  had  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  in  their 
boarding-house,  talking,  and  Betsy  plunged 
boldly  into  a  subject  that  lay  heavy  on  her 
heart. 

"I  feel  just  as  certain  as  I  sit  here,"  she 
said,  "that  you're  goin'  to  make  a  success  of 
it  at  that  inn." 

"O  Betsy, — "the  young  girl  took  her 
friend's  hand  joyously,  —  "I  like  to  hear  you 
say  so,  and  I  do  really  believe  I  can  please 
them  because  I  love  to  do  it  so." 

296 


The  Dance 


"You've  showed  me  a  lot  o'  your  pieces, 
and  it's  a  sensible  selection.  You  ain't  goin' 
to  tear  up  the  ground  and  try  to  be  a  Burn- 
hard.  You're  goin'  to  make  'em  laugh,  and 
if  they're  as  soft  as  I  am,  you're  goin'  to 
make  'em  cry,  same  as  you  have  me  to-night. 
That's  where  you've  got  good  judgment. 
You've  got  as  sweet  a  voice  as  I  ever  heard, 
and  your  glass  tells  you  you're  good-lookin'." 

The  girl  leaned  toward  her  eagerly.  "Do  you 
think  I'm  very  pretty,  Betsy?"  she  asked. 

"Yes;  and  it's  a  good  thing  for  your  work; 
but  listen  here,  Rosalie,  it  ain't  a  good  thing 
for  anything  else." 

The  girl  laughed.  "You  silly,  dear  Betsy!" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Mr.  Irving  was  talkin'  about  somebody  in 
your  line  o'  work  lately;  and  I  listened  hard  on 
your  account.  He  said  she  wa'n't  any  good  — 
her  programmes  was  n't.  He  said  she  did  n't 
have  'the  instinct  of  the  entertainer'!  Those 
were  his  very  words.  I  said  'em  over  to  myself 
so's  to  remember;  for  I  saw  his  point." 

"Do  you  think  he'll  believe  that  I  have?" 
The  girl's  azure  eyes  darkened  as  she  asked  it. 

"Yes,  I  do.  The  way  you've  made  me  act 
silly  to-night,  shows  that  you  know  how  to 

297 


Clever  Betsy 


make  folks  laugh  while  they're  cryin';  and 
that's  as  near  the  secret  o'  success  as  any  one 
can  come,  I  guess;  but  it  ain't  goin'  to  be  all 
roses,  dear  child."  Betsy  patted  the  hand 
that  held  hers.  It  was  hard  for  her  to  dim 
the  blue  light  shining  upon  her  so  hopefully. 
"I  said  your  good  looks  were  a  disadvantage, 
and  they  are  from  the  minute  you  stop  actin'. 
We  happened  to  speak  of  Mr.  Irving  just 
now,  so  I'll  take  him  for  an  example.  He's 
the  apple  o'  my  eye,  Rosalie,  and  I  believe  in 
him  just  as  much  as  I  do  in  any  man,  as  far 
as  intentions  go;  but  he'll  be  one  of  a  whole 
lot  o'  young  men  you'll  meet  at  the  inn,  and 
you're  a  little  bit  acquainted  with  him,  and 
he 's  sure  to  enjoy  your  work,  and  your  good 
looks,  and  he's  liable  to  flatter  you,  and  when 
the  summer  's  over — " 

Betsy  could  scarcely  go  on,  the  expression 
of  the  blue  eyes  was  changing  so  fast  as  their 
gaze  clung  to  her;  but  she  braced  herself. 

"  That '//  be  over,  too.  Men-folks  are  selfish. 
They  don't  know  what  they  're  doin'.  Irving 
Bruce  has  inherited  quite  a  lot  o'  money. 
He  knows  dozens  o'  the  finest  girls  in  Boston. 
Mrs.  Bruce  probably  expects  that  some 
crown  princess  from  the  other  side  o'  the 

298 


The  Dance 


water  '11  be  over  here  after  him  yet.  Have  a 
good  time,  Rosalie,"  Betsy  again  patted  the 
relaxed  hand,  which  she  could  feel  tremble, 
"  but  be  mejum.  I  speak  this  way  to  you  be 
cause  I  know  your  disposition,  and  your  un- 
happiness  would  cut  me  deep." 

The  girl  withdrew  her  hand  quietly.  "  Thank 
you,"  she  said. 

"Old  Kill-joy  that  I  am!"  thought  poor 
Betsy  as  she  lay  awake  that  night,  and  knew 
that  Rosalie  was  awake  beside  her;  but  the 
very  effect  of  her  words  convinced  her  that 
it  was  necessary  to  have  spoken  them;  and 
when  she  supplemented  this  by  her  appeal  to 
Irving  later  in  the  garden,  she  felt  that  she  had 
done  her  worst,  and  her  best;  and  whatever 
came,  her  conscience  was  clear. 

As  Rosalie  stood  in  the  living-room  of  the  inn 
to-night,  her  hand  within  Mr.  Derwent's  arm, 
she  was  too  excited  to  be  conscious  that  it  was 
his  action  which  heightened  the  effusiveness 
of  the  guests.  They  might  laugh  and  weep 
under  her  efforts  to  entertain  them,  but  many 
who  would  not  have  taken  her  hand  afterward 
advanced  graciously  when  it  was  quickly 
whispered  that  the  man  beside  her  was  Henry 
Derwent  of  Boston. 

299 


Clever  Betsy 


"Your  brother  is  a  trump!"  murmured 
Irving  to  Mrs.  Nixon. 

The  lady  looked  resigned. 

"When  Henry  takes  it  into  his  head  to 
befriend  any  one,"  she  said,  "he  carries  his 
point.  Since  the  day  he  found,  out  there  in  the 
Park,  that  this  girl  was  the  daughter  of  his  old 
friend,  I  suppose  he  has  never  really  forgotten 
her.  It  is  like  him  to  be  so  rejoiced  in  this 
change  in  her  fortunes  that  he  immediately 
takes  her  under  his  wing." 

"  He  's  a  trump !  "   repeated  Irving. 

Mrs.  Nixon  was  dimly  aware  that  Mrs. 
Bruce  would  be  fuming  at  her  action,  for  she 
had  overheard  her  refusal  of  Irving's  request. 

"I  can't  do  otherwise  than  stand  by  my 
brother,"  thought  Mrs.  Nixon.  "I  can't  help 
it  if  she  is  offended." 

And  now  they  had  reached  Rosalie,  and  for 
the  first  time  Irving  noticed  that  she  was  very 
pale. 

He  had  counted  on  a  special  look  from 
those  blue  eyes,  —  a  look  that  would  recall 
the  last  time  they  had  stood  together,  in  a 
world  of  beauty  created  for  them  alone. 

He  heard  Mrs.  Nixon  say  in  her  grave, 
sonorous  tones: — 

300 


The  Dance 


"Your  work  is  charming!" 

And  yet  he  had  not  caught  her  eye. 

Betsy  had  said  —  fond,  foolish  Betsy!  who 
could  suppose  that  she  would  be  so  imagina 
tive,  Betsy  had  said  —  and  the  expression  and 
manner  with  which  Rosalie  now  turned  to 
him  at  last,  gave  the  lie  direct  to  all  those 
implications. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Bruce.  How  tanned 
you  are!"  the  girl  said,  raising  her  eyebrows 
with  a  little  smile,  as  if  they  had  met  yesterday 
on  Tremont  Street. 

Then  she  turned  to  meet  a  couple  of  young 
men  who  pressed  forward  under  the  guidance 
of  Mr.  Beebe. 

"These  gentlemen  are  anxious  to  meet  you, 
Miss  Vincent,  and  say  some  pretty  things. 
Mr.  Ames  and  Mr.  Foster,  Miss  Vincent,  and 
Mr.  Derwent,  too." 

Mr.  Derwent  inclined  his  head,  his  hand 
hanging  by  his  side,  and  Rosalie's  tightened 
on  his  arm  as  she  turned  from  Irving  to  meet 
the  somewhat  embarrassed  expressions  of  en 
thusiasm  from  the  young  men,  who  seemed  to 
find  Rosalie's  immobile  and  white-mustached 
companion  somewhat  of  a  bar  to  their  lo 
quacity. 

301 


Clever  Betsy 


"Hope  to  see  you  again,  Miss  Vincent, 
when  the  dancing  begins,"  said  Mr.  Ames  as 
they  withdrew. 

Now  came  Robert  and  his  companions. 

"Dancing?"  repeated  Robert  in  a  high  key. 
"Anybody  taken  your  first  waltz,  Miss  Vin 
cent?"  Rosalie  shook  her  head. 

"Mine,  then.    Is  it?" 

"If  you  wish,"  said  the  girl,  and  then  took 
Mrs.  Bruce's  mechanically  offered  hand. 

This  lady  had  keyed  herself  to  one  master- 
effort,  and  she  said  now :  — 

''You  know,  I  always  believed  you  could." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Bruce!" 

Rosalie's  smile  of  gratitude,  her  low  tone, 
and  the  sudden  moisture  that  dimmed  her 
eyes,  should  have  touched  the  heart  of  her 
benefactress;  but  that  organ  could  not  hold 
another  emotion.  Mrs.  Bruce  slightly  bowed 
and  smiled,  and  moved  slowly  away. 

At  Robert  Nixon's  invitation  to  Rosalie, 
Helen  bit  her  lip.  "Rude,  —  incredibly  rude 
cub!"  she  thought.  "I'll  never  forgive  him 
for  that!" 

The  clinging  of  Rosalie  to  Mr.  Derwent's 
arm  was  another  item  in  her  disfavor;  and 
Helen  approached,  her  habitual  self-control 

302 


The  Dance 


standing  her  in  good  stead,  but  all  the  rose- 
color  of  the  opening  of  her  evening  turned  to 
ashes  of  roses. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  proficient,  Miss 
Vincent,"  she  said  calmly.  "Why  haven't 
you  gone  into  this  long  ago?" 

Rosalie  met  her  cool  regard  admiringly. 

"Things  have  changed  for  us  both  wonder 
fully  since  we  met  in  the  Park,"  she  said. 
"You  look  very  lovely  to-night." 

"Oh,  really?"  Helen  gave  a  little  laugh 
and  quietly  met  Mr.  Derwent's  eyes.  "How 
kind!" 

"Me  next,"  said  Robert.  "We'll  have  to 
beat  it  in  a  minute,  'cause  there  are  a  lot  more 
coming;  but  I  want  to  tell  you  you  're  a  wonder. 
My  nose  felt  like  your  foot  when  it's  asleep, 
and  a  pearly  tear  coursed  down  my  rounded 
cheek—" 

Here  the  speaker  was  pushed  aside,  and 
found  it  best  to  skip  after  Helen's  pink  robe. 

"Brute  says  this  floor's  all  right  when  the 
minions  get  the  rugs  up,"  he  said,  as  he  joined 
her.  "They  don't  have  any  cards  here,  but 
you'll  give  me  the  —  yes,  the  second  dance, 
won't  you  —  and  the  —  yes,  I  remember  you 
dance  like  a  fairy.  You  must  give  me  a  lot." 

303 


Clever  Betsy 


Robert  ended  in  a  rush  of  crimson  embarrass 
ment  as  Helen  moved  steadily  onward  toward 
the  corner  where  Mrs.  Nixon  had  taken  a 
seat. 

"Thank  you,"  she  returned.  "It  is  fortu 
nate  for  me  that  you  dance  as  well  as  you  do 
other  things;  because  after  all,  I'm  a  stranger 
here,  you  know,  and  beggars  must  n't  be 
choosers." 

Mrs.  Nixon  received  the  pair  with  a  smile. 
"Well,  my  dears,"  she  said,  "we've  all  done 
our  duty,  have  n't  we?" 

" Pourvu  seulement  she  does  n't  tell  mamma," 
thought  Robert  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart. 

"Have  n't  we?"  he  responded  airily.  "And 
look  at  my  noble  uncle  —  I  'm  not  quite  sure 
whether  his  name  is  Quixote  or  Casabianca; 
but  I  hope  he'll  get  off  the  rug  soon,  so  it  can 
be  taken  up." 

"Yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Nixon  graciously. 
"I'm  glad  there's  to  be  dancing,  for  I  may 
be  a  fond  mamma,  but  I  do  think  when  you 
and  dear  Helen  dance,  that  the  poetry  of  mo 
tion  is  reached.  Where  has  Mrs.  Bruce  disap 
peared  to?" 

"Never  end  your  sentences  with  a  preposi 
tion,  mother!  But  despite  your  inelegance  I 

304 


The  Dance 


will  go  and  find  her  for  you  ;"  and  Robert 
moved  away,  his  eager  eyes  searching,  but 
not  for  Irving's  stepmother.  He  soon  descried 
the  tall  outline  of  his  friend,  standing  alone 
in  the  dusk  of  the  veranda,  and  he  charged 
upon  him. 

"Brute,  I've  put  my  foot  in  it!"  he  ejacu 
lated. 

Irving  turned  slowly  and  regarded  him. 

"That's  all  you  ever  take  it  out  for,  so  far 
as  I  can  discover,"  he  replied  pessimistically. 

"Cruelly  unjust,  but  I'll  pass  it  by.  Say, 
there  are  n't  so  many  peaches  here  but  that 
you  can  do  me  a  favor." 

"Say  on." 

Robert  made  a  grimace  of  rueful  self-dis 
gust. 

"Of  course  I  ought  to  have  taken  the  first 
dance  with  Helen  Maynard." 

"You  could  n't  do  anything  else." 

"Yes,  I  could.  I  can  always  do  things  that 
to  others  would  seem  impossible.  To  me 
they're  mere  bagatelles.  I'm  about  to  be 
snubbed  evermore  by  the  heiress,  and  disin 
herited  by  mother." 

"Speak  out." 

"It  was  an  attack  of  emotional  insanity. 
305 


Clever  Betsy 


They  always  come  out  of  a  clear  sky,  and  she 
was  so  enchanting — " 

"Who?" 

"Hebe.  I  asked  her  for  the  first  dance, 
in  Helen's  presence." 

Irving  looked  the  culprit  over  from  head 
to  foot. 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  with  a  severity  which 
seemed  disproportionate  to  the  occasion,  "you 
are  the  limit!" 

"And  a  transfer!"  added  Robert  humbly. 
"Now  you're  the  only  person  that  can  save 
the  day  —  I  mean  the  evening.  If  you  '11  go 
in,  this  minute,  —  go  in  eagerly,  you  know, 
just  as  soon  as  she  sees  you,  fall  over  your  own 
feet  in  your  hurry,  —  do  the  thing  handsomely, 
why,  you'll  be  acting  like  a  friend!  Get  your 
breath  as  well  as  you  can,  and  ask  her  for  the 
first  dance.  So  you  will  avert  the  storm  from 
your  tried  and  true  Nixie!" 

Irving  looked  unpromisingly  gloomy.  "I 
was  n't  thinking  of  dancing  to-night,"  he  said. 

"Well,  think  of  it  quick,  now."  Robert 
dragged  at  his  reluctant  companion.  "Put 
on  a  gilt  edge  by  asking  for  the  second  one, 
too.  She  can't  give  it  to  you,  because  I  Ve 
engaged  it.  When  you  see  me  in  the  light, 

306 


The  Dance 


you'll  think  I've  turned  gray  in  a  single 
night;  but  it's  only  the  frosty  rime  that  she 
cast  over  me  when  she  accepted.  Beside, 
you  Ve  got  to  ask  Miss  Vincent,  have  n't  you  ? 
You  seem  to  have  influence  with  mamma,  and 
I  'd  rather  you  'd  bring  her  over  to  be  chap 
eroned  than  do  it  myself.  Uncle  Henry  can't 
play  watchdog  very  well  when  it  comes  to 
partners." 

Irving  allowed  himself  to  be  shoved  and 
pulled  toward  the  door.  He  felt  the  force  of 
Nixie's  last  argument,  but  he  was  still  con 
scious  of  a  strange  disappointment  in  the  care 
lessness  of  Rosalie's  greeting.  Betsy's  earnest 
talk  had  fallen  upon  a  wondering  credulity, 
because  of  the  tenderness  that  he  had  felt  for 
this  girl  from  the  beginning,  —  a  feeling  totally 
different  from  anything  he  had  ever  experi 
enced. 

Her  self-possession,  and  fleeting  notice  of 
himself  just  now,  had  given  him  an  odd  shock, 
and  opened  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  he  had 
given  absurd  weight  to  Betsy's  words. 

Now,  under  Robert's  vigorous  appeal,  he 
shook  himself  together. 

"I'm  a  worse  sentimental  idiot  than  dear 
old  Betsy,"  he  thought. 

307 


Clever  Betsy 


Robert,  lurking  cautiously  in  the  back 
ground,  viewed  his  friend's  deliberate  advance 
to  Mrs.  Nixon's  corner,  and  heaved  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

Slinking  into  the  hall  with  intent  to  seek 
Rosalie,  he  saw  her,  still  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  Mr.  Derwent,  who  was  leading  her,  also, 
toward  the  corner  where  Mrs.  Nixon  sat  en 
throned.  Robert  remained  unostentatiously 
behind  the  jamb  of  the  door,  and  his  small 
bright  eyes  twinkled  appreciatively  as  he 
watched  his  uncle  place  a  chair  near  by  for 
his  charge. 

"Mrs.  Bruce  has  slid  out  of  it,"  he  thought 
gleefully,  "and  mamma  is  Hebe's  chaperon, 
willy-nilly.  I'll  bet  she  don't  like  it  a  little  bit! 
Now,  Nixie,  look  bland  and  don't  let  your 
upper  lip  wiggle.  You  may  pull  it  off  yet!" 

The  rugs  had  been  swiftly  removed,  and  the 
music  started.  A  number  of  couples  swung 
promptly  out  upon  the  floor. 

Robert  saw  Irving  say  something  to  Rosalie, 
and  then  smile  and  bow  to  Helen,  who  rose  and 
floated  away  with  him. 

Then,  only,  Robert,  with  an  expression  of 
singular  innocence,  came  leisurely  across  the 
floor  to  his  mother's  corner. 

308 


The  Dance 


She  looked  at  him  with  a  fixed  regard,  and 
her  nostrils  dilated. 

"Where  were  you,  Robert?"  she  asked. 
"Irving  has  taken  Helen  out  for  the  first 
dance." 

"Just  like  him,"  returned  Robert  brazenly. 
"Mother,  you  must  accustom  yourself  to  such 
blows,  or  your  parental  pride  will  be  constantly 
wounded.  I  'm  not  one,  two,  three  with  Brute 
where  girls  are  concerned,  but  I've  had  to 
learn  to  turn  a  sunny  side  to  the  world  in  spite 
of  it,  and  weep  only  when  alone.  I  don't 
want  to  grow  cynical,  but  I  find  that  it  is  too 
true  that  others  care  little  for  our  sorrows. 
Miss  Vincent,  shall  we  show  them  how  to  do 
this?" 

Rosalie  rose,  smiling  a  farewell  to  Mr. 
Derwent,  and  started  off  in  such  perfect  step 
with  her  partner  that  he  emitted  a  joyous 
exclamation. 

"Perhaps  Hebe  isn't  some  dancer!"  he 
said.  "Say,  do  you  mind  my  calling  you 
Hebe?  It  takes  so  much  less  time  than  Terp 
sichore." 

"Mr.  Nixon,  your  mother  did  n't  like  this 
at  all,"  said  Rosalie. 

"Well,  when  you  come  right  down  to  it," 
309 


Clever  Betsy 


remarked  her  partner  philosophically,  "there 
are  so  few  things  she  does  like." 

"But  —  ought  you  not  to  have  had  this 
with  Miss  Maynard?" 

"  Some  carping  critics  might  say  so,  — 
Look  out,  there !  Did  n't  we  duck  neatly 
under  Brute's  elbow?  The  fact  is,  Miss  Vin 
cent,  I've  graduated  in  almost  every  line 
except  diplomacy;  and  you  —  you  just  swept 
me  off  my  feet  to-night.  No  —  don't  be 
afraid  I  shall  try  to  flirt  with  you.  That  re 
quires  diplomacy,  too,  and  I  make  too  many 
breaks  ever  to  be  successful  at  it.  I  was  crazy 
about  you  to-night,  and  when  I  heard  Ames 
say  'dancing,'  I  blurted  my  innocent  wish 
right  out.  I  'm  just  a  child  of  nature  —  fresh, 
unspoiled." 

Rosalie  laughed.  "I've  heard  people  say 
you  were  fresh,"  she  said. 

"Naughty,  naughty!"  returned  Robert. 

"No,  you're  the  naughty  one,"  said  the 
girl.  "You've  put  me  in  a  disagreeable  posi 


tion.'1 


"I  don't  believe  it,  Hebe.    I  know  you  are 
enjoying  this." 

She   sighed.     "You   do   dance   like   a  —  a 
ribbon,"  she  admitted. 

310 


The  Dance 


Robert  laughed. 

"And  what  has  Helen  to  complain  of?"  he 
asked.  "Has  n't  she  the  great  and  only  Brute  ? 
I  'm  making  the  most  of  your  approval  of  my 
dancing  before  you  try  it  with  him.  He  is  one 
of  these  haughty  heroes,  who  h-excel  in  every 
thing,  you  know." 

"Including  flirting,  I  suppose,"  said  Rosa 
lie. 

"Could  n't  say.  He's  never  flirted  with  me. 
Humble  observation,  however,  would  deduce 
that  all  he  ever  does  is  to  allow  himself  to  be 
made  love  to." 

Rosalie  swallowed,  and  essayed  a  laugh. 

"  Companionship  with  Brute  has  made 
me  a  socialist,  socially,  Hebe.  Here  I  am, 
cheerful,  willing  to  please  —  average  good- 
looking.  Yes,  I  maintain  it.  Now,  Hebe,  am 
I  not  average  good-looking?  Don't  speak  too 
quickly.  Remember,  Chinese,  African,  Amer 
ican-Indian — " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Nixon,"  —  Rosalie  did  laugh 
now,  —  "how  can  you  talk  so  constantly,  and 
dance  too?" 

They  were  passing  Mrs.  Nixon,  and  that 
lady  heard  the  girlish  laugh.  She  sighed. 

"She  certainly  dances  well.  Helen  said 
311  - 


Clever  Betsy 


she  was  noted  for  it  at  school.  I  suppose  she 
is  a  really  artistic  creature;  but  Robert  should 
have  been  here  in  time  to  ask  Helen.  College 
has  absolutely  ruined  his  manners." 

Mrs.  Nixon  leaned  toward  her  brother,  who 
was  watching  his  protegee,  pleased  in  her  plea 
sure. 

"Where  can  Mrs.  Bruce  be?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  reply.  "I  suppose 
she  has  many  friends  here." 

But  Mrs.  Nixon  doubted  if  sociability  were 
keeping  her  friend  away. 

"I'm  afraid  she's  pouting  somewhere,"  she 
reflected.  "  I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  done 
any  differently.  It  was  n't  my  fault  that  she 
refused  to  go  with  Irving.  It  is  annoying  to 
have  this  incident  occur  right  at  the  outset 
of  our  stay.  It  would  be  stupid  of  her  to  be 
offended.  Really  that  Vincent  girl  from  first  to 
last  has  given  us  a  great  deal  of  annoyance!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE   CLASH 

WHEN  Robert  returned  Rosalie  to  her  place 
near  Mrs.  Nixon,  a  number  of  men  who  had 
experienced  a  clinching  of  their  admiration 
by  the  view  of  her  dancing,  hastened  to  ap 
proach. 

Many  of  the  same  people  came  to  the  inn, 
season  after  season,  and  Irving  knew  most  of 
them.  Some  were  Harvard  men  known  to 
Robert  as  well,  and  he  at  last  being  alive 
to  Helen's  situation,  the  group  around  the  two 
girls  soon  became  extremely  animated.  Amidst 
the  strife  of  tongues  Irving  made  his  way  to 
Rosalie. 

"This  is  ours?"  he  said. 

As  they  moved  away,  she  spoke:  "I  hope 
I  sha'n't  offend  any  one.  I  have  n't  the  least 
idea  what  I've  promised  to  do." 

In  a  sort  of  dream  she  started  in  the  dance. 
This  was  Fairport.  In  fifteen  minutes  she 
could  be  standing  in  Mrs.  Pogram's  kitchen, 
where  the  clock  ticked  loud  above  the  oilcloth 

313 


Clever  Betsy 


shelf,  and  Loomis  Brown  counted  the  silver 
she  had  washed. 

What  a  gulf  had  lain  between  this  inn,  with 
its  airily  dressed  girls  and  their  cavaliers,  and 
the  chill,  dusky  room  where  at  dawn  she  had 
made  Loomis's  coffee  before  he  took  the  early 
train  to  Portland.  Her  hand  tightened  on 
Irving's  arm  while  she  recalled  the  amorous 
advances  of  Mrs.  Pogram's  brother,  and  his 
change,  after  her  repulsion,  to  anger  and  a  mean 
revenge. 

A  long,  inaudible  breath  came  quivering  to 
her  lips  as  she  glided  on  under  her  partner's 
perfect  guidance.  Rosalie  loved  dancing  as  only 
the  artistic  nature  can  love  it,  and  the  rising 
and  falling  waves  of  music  went  to  her  brain 
like  wine. 

"Cruel  Betsy!  Wise  Betsy!"  she  thought. 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Irving,  "the  last 
time  I  held  you  like  this?" 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  very  dull,"  she  replied. 
"Did  we  dance  together  in  some  previous 
incarnation?" 

"Don't  you  wish  to  remember,  Rosalie?" 

"Indeed  I  do," she  rejoined  brightly.  "Your 
dancing  could  n't  be  improved." 

Irving  kept  silence.  He  was  entirely  aware 
3H 


The  Clash 


that  he  was  beginning  exactly  as  Betsy  had 
implored  him  not  to  do;  but  he  began  to  sus 
pect  shrewdly  that  Betsy's  lecture  was  a 
shield  which  had  two  sides,  and  that  one  of 
them  had  been  presented  to  this  girl.  Had  n't 
his  mentor  said  that  Rosalie  —  and  the  lat- 
ter's  totally  changed  manner  — 

"Betsy  will  end  by  making  a  conceited  ass 
out  of  me,"  he  reflected,  with  the  relief  human 
nature  finds  in  discovering  some  one  else  to 
blame  for  its  discomfort. 

The  dance  over,  he  took  his  partner  out 
on  the  veranda,  where  couples  were  promenad 
ing  in  the  damp  coolness.  He  found  some 
chairs  in  a  remote  corner. 

"These  are  tolerably  dry,"  he  said.  "Shall 
we  sit  here?" 

"I  must  n't,"  she  answered. 

"Why  not?  Too  cold?" 

"Not  for  me,  but  too  damp  for  my  gown." 

Irving  glanced  over  it  in  the  dusk.  "I 
have  an  idea  that  that  is  something  pretty 
fine,"  he  said.  "I  want  to  see  the  black  one." 

Rosalie  colored.  "Shame  on  Betsy!"  she 
said,  laughing.  "Has  she  told  everybody?" 

"No  one  but  me,  you  may  be  sure.  Betsy 
knows  that  I  am  so  perfectly  trustworthy, 

315 


Clever  Betsy 


she  tells  me  everything.  Did  she  ever  give 
me  a  character  to  you?" 

"Yes  —  No  —  I  don't  know.  Let's  go  into 
the  house,  Mr.  Bruce.  This  gown  must  last 
me  for  years,  and  years." 

Irving  obediently  led  the  girl  within  doors, 
where,  in  a  corner  of  the  hall,  in  lieu  of  palms, 
were  set  Christmas  trees  in  tubs.  Into  a  seat 
behind  these  he  ushered  her. 

"I'm  afraid  my  next  partner  can't  find  me 
here,"  she  said  doubtfully. 

"We  have  the  next  together." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so,  Mr.  Bruce!" 

"I  know  it,  Rosalie.  I  wonder  why  I  ven 
ture  to  call  you  Rosalie." 

As  he  spoke  Irving  took  up  her  fan  and 
began  to  use  it  as  he  gazed  at  her  girlish  profile. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  returned,  a  little  pulse 
beating  in  her  throat.  "I  think,  myself,  Miss 
Vincent  would  sound  better." 

"Ah,  Betsy!"  thought  Irving,  closing  his 
teeth.  "I'll  pay  you  for  this." 

"What  need  of  formality  between  sworn 
friends?"  he  asked. 

"  I  'm  starting  out  on  a  new  life,  Mr.  Bruce," 
she  said,  turning  and  looking  at  him  with  a 
direct  gaze. 

316 


The  Clash 


She  seemed  to  him  enchanting.  He  knew, 
better  than  she,  that  she  was  starting  out  in  a 
new  life;  and  he  begrudged  it,  strangely.  He 
knew  her  to  be  all  unconscious  as  yet  of  her 
own  charm  and  power.  He  dreaded  the 
opening  of  those  clear  eyes  that  as  yet  were 
so  modest  —  the  windows  through  which  one 
perceived  her  innocence.  While  he  was  justly 
angry  with  Betsy  for  rousing  unthought-of 
suspicion  and  caution,  he  could  not  deny  the 
justice  of  her  sympathy. 

He  met  the  blue  gaze  with  a  smile  that  set 
the  pulse  to  beating  faster. 

"You  don't  intend  to  forget  old  friends  for 
new,  do  you?"  he  asked. 

" '  There  is  no  friend  like  the  old  friend,  who  has 
shared  our  morning  days,' 

you  know.  This  little  audience  was  enthusi 
astic  over  you,  and  audiences  always  will  be; 
but  — 

" '  Fame  is  the  scentless  sunflower,  with  gaudy  crown 
of  gold,' 

remember." 

"It's  unkind  to  laugh  at  me,"  returned  the 
girl,  with  surprising  heat.  "You  know  I  have 
no  thought  of  fame." 

317 


Clever  Betsy 


"Rosalie,  Rosalie!"  he  exclaimed  and  seized 
her  hand  protectingly.  "I'm  not  laughing  at 
you.  I  believe  you  could  have  fame  if  you  wish 
and  work;  but  somehow  I  don't  want  the 
people  to  have  a  right  to  gaze  at  you,  and 
listen,  and  applaud." 

A  strange  film  came  over  her  eyes  as  she 
still  looked  at  him.  It  was  as  if  she  withdrew 
herself  as  she  took  her  hand  away. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  "that  people  who 
have  always  had  their  own  way  are  subject  to 
such  fancies." 

"Betsy  said  that  to  you!"  he  exclaimed, 
acutely. 

She  shook  her  head  but  did  not  speak. 

"Betsy  knows  nothing  of  our  compact." 
He  leaned  toward  her,  and  she  shrank,  but 
kept  her  golden  head  proudly  lifted.  "Betsy 
knows  nothing  of  the  moment  when  we  stood 
above  the  eagles  and  knew  what  in  life  was  — 

"'the  breathing  rose,  with  sweets  in  every  fold.' 

Why  do  I  call  you  Rosalie?  Because  it  means 
you.  It  is  one  of  the  ( sweets '  that  came  to  me 
then—" 

"Mr.  Bruce,"  the  girl  interrupted  him, 
"Betsy  does  know  nothing  of  it;  but  if  she  did, 

318 


The  Clash 


Betsy  is  something  more  than  clever,  she  is 
wise.  She  probably  does  n't  read  Emerson, 
but  if  she  did,  it  would  be  her  own  thought 
that  she  would  put  into  his  words:  'Our  friend 
ships  hurry  to  short  and  poor  conclusions,  be 
cause  we  have  made  them  a  texture  of  wine 
and  dreams,  instead  of  the  tough  fibre  of  the 
human  heart."  The  speaker  took  a  firm  hold 
on  the  sweet  voice  that  threatened  to  break. 
"That  morning  was  a  time  of  wine  and  dreams. 
I  Ve  always  been  a  child.  I  've  always  dreamed 
dreams;  but  to-night  I  am  awake,  I  am  start 
ing  out  in  real  life,  with  my  eyes  open."  Those 
eyes  had  been  downcast,  but  now  she  lifted 
them  again  to  her  companion's  flushed  face. 
"I  shall  be  very  glad  if  you  help  me  —  and  not 
hinder." 

"The  tough  fibre  of  the  human  heart," 
repeated  Irving. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  girl.  "It  is  a  slow 
growth,  —  but  it  holds." 

A  black-coated  biped  hovering  before  the 
Christmas  trees,  now  retreating  and  now  ad 
vancing  undecidedly,  heard  his  name  with 
relief. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Ames?"  asked  Rosalie, 
rising  with  decision.  The  young  man  addressed 

319 


Clever  Betsy 


doubled  around  the  end  of  the  grove  with 
eager  agility. 

"I  did  n't  intend  to  hide,"  laughed  the  girl. 

Irving  rose  also,  and  when  the  two  had  gone, 
sank  back  on  the  seat,  playing  absently  with 
the  fan  he  still  held. 

His  thoughts  were  busy,  and  his  teeth  tightly 
closed. 

"What  do  I  want,  anyway?"  he  reflected. 
"Which  is  Betsy:  a  meddlesome  busybody, 
or  a  guardian  angel?  I'll  take  no  chances  on 
the  angel  proposition.  She's  a  busybody.  I'll 
see  her  to-morrow." 

Irving  shook  his  head  threateningly,  and  a 
sudden  nervous  twist  of  his  strong  fingers 
broke  a  couple  of  sticks  of  the  pretty  fan.  He 
frowned  in  dismay,  and  fitted  them  together 
in  the  futile  manner  inseparable  from  the 
occasion. 

"Must  last  her  years  and  years,"  he  re 
flected.  "Well,  it's  up  to  me  to  get  her  an 
other  fan,  that's  evident."  And  with  a  clearing 
of  the  countenance  as  if  this  consideration 
presented  distinct  consolation,  he  rose  and 
wandered  out  of  the  arbor.  "I  wonder  where 
Madama  is,"  he  reflected.  She  had  not  come 
into  his  mind  since  her  refusal  of  his  request 

320 


The  Clash 


drove  him  to  Mrs.  Nixon.  "How  am  I  to 
revive  her  interest  in  Rosalie?"  he  wondered 
as  he  moved  down  the  hall. 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Bruce  had  made  her 
perfunctory  acknowledgment  to  Rosalie,  she 
slipped  from  Robert's  side,  unnoticed  by  a 
culprit  absorbed  in  his  own  misdemeanors, 
and  with  one  glance  after  Irving  and  Mrs. 
Nixon,  who  were  returning  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room,  she  moved  into  the  hall,  and  up 
the  stairs  of  the  inn. 

She  made  no  effort  to  curb  the  hot  resent 
ment  that  possessed  her  in  every  fibre.  Her 
one  desire  was  to  reach  the  cause  of  her  suffer 
ing,  and  wreak  her  sense  of  outrage  upon  her. 

It  was  half  an  hour  after  Captain  Salter's 
departure,  and  Betsy  was  smiling  to  herself 
as  she  wound  the  living-room  clock.  Her 
thoughts  were  with  Rosalie;  confident  of 
the  girl's  success,  yet  half-frightened  by  the 
chance  of  fortune  which  had  united  the  Yel 
lowstone  party  to  witness  her  debut.  She 
imagined  the  scene  in  the  spacious  living-room 
of  the  hotel.  Had  the  rain  not  fallen,  she  had 
meant  to  ask  Hiram  to  take  her  over  there, 
that  she  might  look  in  through  the  windows 
and  see  the  dear  child  standing,  the  cynosure 

321 


Clever  Betsy 


of  all  eyes,  even  if  she  could  not  hear  her 
voice. 

She  felt  certain  of  Mr.  Derwent's  satisfac 
tion  in  her.  As  a  contraband  guest  at  the 
Canyon  Hotel,  Rosalie  had  recited  for  him  in 
her  room,  and  to-night  Betsy's  heart  swelled 
in  the  realization  that  he  was  seeing  the  first 
fruits  of  his  generosity. 

Doubts  of  Mrs.  Brace's  approval  did  sweep 
occasionally,  like  filmy  clouds,  across  the  clear 
happiness  of  her  mind;  but  the  importance 
of  Rosalie's  good  fortune  was  paramount,  and 
Betsy  was  able  to  sweep  them  away. 

Suddenly  she  heard  the  sound  of  wheels 
stopping  before  the  gate.  She  glanced  at  the 
clock. 

"So  early?"  she  thought.  "They  can't  be 
comin'  home  now." 

In  a  minute  more  some  one  ran  up  the 
steps,  and  Mrs.  Bruce,  in  a  long  light  wrap, 
a  chiffon  scarf  falling  from  her  elaborately 
dressed  hair,  came  swiftly  into  the  room. 

Betsy  met  the  flashing  eyes  in  dismay.  She 
hurried  to  meet  her. 

"Mercy!  Mrs.  Bruce  —  "  she  said,  nerving 
herself  for  some  disaster.  "How  white  you  are! 
Has  something  happened?  Or  are  you  ill?" 

322 


The  Clash 


With  her  care-taking  impulse  Betsy  tried 
to  remove  her  mistress's  wrap,  but  the  lady 
twitched  away  from  her.  She  had  been  nursing 
her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm,  and  it  was  very 
warm  indeed;  but  something  in  Betsy's  pre 
sence,  in  the  gaze  of  those  honest  eyes,  threat 
ened  to  make  the  enormity  of  the  latter's 
offense  shrink.  Mrs.  Bruce  was  obliged  to 
remember  the  attitude  of  Irving's  head  as 
he  walked  away  with  Mrs.  Nixon,  careless  of 
her  own  opinions  or  feelings,  forgetful  of  her, 
—  utterly  forgetful  of  her  for  the  first  time 
in  her  remembrance.  Her  narrow  mind, 
tenacious  of  its  two  idols,  —  her  own  import 
ance  and  her  boy,  —  suffered  intensely. 

"Stand  away  from  me!"  she  cried;  and 
Betsy,  too  dumfounded  to  move,  stared 
mutely  while  the  vials  of  Mrs.  Bruce's  wrath 
began  to  pour  out. 

"  We  have  been  too  kind  to  you.  You  forget 
your  place.  What  right  had  you  to  do  such 
a  thing  as  to  place  Rosalie  Vincent  where  she 
must  be  accepted  as  a  companion  by  people  of 
our  class?  What  right  had  you  to  interfere  so 
with  the  pleasure  of  our  summer?  Ask  your 
self  why  you  told  me  nothing  about  it.  You 
will  say,  if  you  are  honest,  that  it  was  because 

323 


Clever  Betsy 


you  knew  I  would  not  approve.  I  have  done 
everything  for  the  Vincent  girl  that  has  been 
done.  I  had  a  right  to  be  consulted,  at  least. 
But  you,  forgetting  that  you  were  my  serv 
ant,  went  on,  managing  to  ruin  our  summer, 
spending,  like  a  fool,  your  long  years'  savings 
to  bring  that  girl  east,  and  dress  her  unsuit 
ably,  leaving  me,  and  putting  me  to  incon 
venience  in  order  to  do  so,  going  entirely  out 
of  your  sphere,  and  making  yourself  a  special 
providence.  You  think  yourself  so  clever! 
Clever  Betsy,  indeed!  Your  head  is  turned. 
It  is  largely  our  fault!" 

She  paused,  panting.  Betsy  stood  in  the 
same  spot,  but  her  anxious  face  had  settled 
into  lines  of  stony  stillness.  Only  her  eyes 
kept  fixed  on  Mrs.  Bruce's  face. 

"Speak!"  cried  the  latter,  hysterically. 
"How  did  you  dare  do  this  thing?" 

There  was  another  space  of  silence,  then 
Betsy  did  speak. 

"Is  there  anything  more  you  want  to  say 
about  it,  Mrs.  Bruce?" 

The  lady  shrugged  her  shoulders  angrily, 
and  moving  to  the  divan  dropped  off  her 
downy  wrap. 

"I   suppose   nothing  that   I   can   say  will 

324 


The  Clash 


pierce  through  your  self-conceit;  but  I  am 
willing  to  have  any  explanation  you  have  to 
offer.  You  think  you  Ve  outwitted  everybody, 
and  you've  succeeded  in  getting  your  own 
way;  but  it's  nothing  to  be  proud  of,  Betsy  — 
and  old  age  will  be  coming  upon  you,  and 
you  '11  think  of  that  money  a  good  many  times, 
I  can  tell  you." 

She  paused  again,  and  looking  up  found 
Betsy's  grave  eyes  following  her.  There  was 
another  short  silence,  then  Betsy  spoke. 

"Mrs.  Bruce,  when  you  are  thinkin'  this 
evenin'  over,  as  you  will,  there  's  just  one 
thing  I'll  ask  you  to  remember.  It's  an  old 
sayin'  out  o'  the  far  east:  'Of  the  unspoken 
word  you  are  master.  The  spoken  word  is 
master  o'  you.'  Good-night." 

With  this  Betsy  walked  out  of  the  room 
without  one  backward  look,  and  Mrs.  Bruce 
stood,  baffled,  and  trembling  with  her  own 
excitement. 

Alone,  she  sank  on  the  divan  with  her  face 
buried  in  the  pillows. 

It  was  quite  within  the  range  of  possibility 
that  at  this  moment  Irving  was  dancing  with 
Rosalie  Vincent,  and  did  not  even  observe  her 
own  absence  from  the  room. 

325 


Clever  Betsy 


She  sobbed,  stifling  the  sound  in  the  pillows 
lest  Betsy  should  hear  and  return  to  her 
assistance,  believing  her  to  be  repentant. 
It  was  like  Betsy  to  refuse  to  answer  her;  to 
treat  her  like  a  child;  to  throw  upon  her,  by 
her  manner,  the  blame  of  all  that  occurred. 
It  was  infuriating;  unbearable.  Her  breath 
came  in  spasms,  and  she  fought  for  her  self- 
control. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHITE    SWEET   PEAS 

CAPTAIN  SALTER,  in  his  five  years  of  widow 
hood,  had  fallen  into  habits  that  varied  but 
little  from  day  to  day.  He  cooked  his  own 
breakfast,  and  was  off  to  his  boat,  or  to  the 
long  shed  where  in  winter  he  built  them  for 
other  people,  before  Mrs.  Bachelder  set  foot 
within  his  doors. 

This  Sabbath  morning  he  rose,  shaved,  and 
made  his  customary  demi-toilet,  then  went 
out  to  the  stove  and  set  the  kettle  to  boil. 

He  lingered  for  a  minute,  smiling,  before 
the  Yellowstone  postal-cards,  his  thoughts 
busy  with  the  events  of  the  evening  before. 

He  held  an  imaginary  reel  in  his  hands  and 
began  slowly  winding  the  invisible  line. 

"Take  your  time,  Miss  Betsy,"  he  hummed. 

His  cottage  stood  on  a  corner  of  land,  facing 
out  to  sea.  Rocks  were  to  the  left  of  it,  a 
stony  beach  to  the  right.  His  boat-house  was 
in  sight.  A  flower-garden  was  in  front,  with  a 
path  that  ran  down  between  the  beds. 

Many  a  summer  visitor  had  admired  the 
327 


Clever  Betsy 


position  of  the  little  white  house,  and  tried 
to  tempt  Hiram  to  part  with  it;  but  his  grand 
father  had  built  it,  and  the  captain's  invari 
able  reply  to  would-be  purchasers  was:  "I 
have  n't  come  to  that,  yet." 

By  habit  he  now  moved  to  the  window  to 
note  the  sea's  mood.  Some  strange  object 
caught  his  eye.  His  head  went  forward,  his 
eyes  seemed  to  bulge.  A  woman  was  seated 
on  the  rustic  bench  outside.  Her  back  was 
toward  him  as  she  watched  the  rolling  waves. 
She  was  dressed  in  dark  brown,  with  hat  and 
veil;  and  a  traveling-bag  reposed  on  the  seat 
beside  her. 

" Steady,  Hiram,  steady!"  he  murmured, 
making  long  silent  strides  to  the  inner  room, 
and  catching  up  his  coat.  He  gave  two 
strokes  of  the  brush  to  his  stiff  hair,  and  then 
strode  out  on  tiptoe  again  to  the  window. 

"  T  wa'n't  any  dream,"  he  muttered.  "  She 's 
there!  Steady!  Look  out  for  the  boom!" 

He  opened  the  door,  and  as  Betsy  turned 
her  head,  he  spoke,  quite  as  if  it  had  been  his 
daily  custom  to  greet  her  at  six-thirty  A.  M. 
in  his  garden. 

"Good-mornin'.  Things  look  kind  o'  washed 
up  and  shinin'  after  the  rain,  don't  they?" 

328 


White  Sweet  Peas 


His  keen  eyes  studied  his  caller's  face  as  he 
advanced  with  a  casual  air. 

"It's  a  beautiful  mornin',"  returned  Betsy, 
her  hand  clasping  the  top  of  her  bag  tightly, 
and  bright  spots  coming  in  her  pale  cheeks. 

"You  look  as  if  you  was  goin'  off  jauntin' 
again,"  said  Hiram,  feeling  his  way  with  care. 
"Gettin'  to  be  such  a  traveler  you  don't  make 
anythin'  of  dartin'  off  and  dartin'  back  again, 
like  a  —  like  a  swaller." 

The  lump  in  Betsy's  throat  would  not  let 
her  speak.  Her  silence  mystified  the  captain 
more  than  anything  she  *could  have  said. 
Determined  not  to  frighten  her,  he  plunged 
into  generalities. 

"I  think  it's  about  time  you  paid  a  visit 
to  my  garden.  Don't  you  think  it's  lookin' 
good?  If  you'd  a  seen  them  lilies  o'  the  valley 
a  month  ago  't  would  'a'  done  your  heart  good. 
They're  a-spreadin'  so,  I  donno  but  the  cot 
tage '11  have  to  git  up  'n  git.  I  remembered 
what  you  said  once  —  that  is,"  added  Hiram, 
correcting  himself  lest  his  visitor  should  rise 
and  fly,  —  "  my  mother  was  always  set  on 
sweet  peas,  I  try  to  have  plenty  of  'em." 

"They're  perfectly  beautiful,"  said  Betsy, 
her  eyes  resting  on  the  riot  of  color  that  em- 

329 


Clever  Betsy 


bedded  the  white  house  in  violet  and  rose  and 
white.  "I  think  it's  my  favorite  flower." 

"That's  what  you  said-  '  began  Hiram 
eagerly,  and  then  cleared  his  throat  and  stam 
mered.  "My  mother  —  yes,  she  used  to  say 
they  was  like  butterflies,  just  swayin'  on  the 
stem,  and  ready  to  fly." 

Betsy  met  his  eyes  as  he  stood  apart,  his 
stalwart  figure  uneasily  moving,  now  toward 
her  and  then  away,  in  his  eager  embarrassment. 
Something  in  her  look  drew  him  close  to  the 
seat. 

"There  ain't  any  train  for  an  hour  yet,"  he 
said  gently.  "I  s'pose  you  took  a  bite,  but 
you'll  have  breakfast  with  me,  won't  you, 
Betsy,  'fore  I  take  ye  over  to  the  depot?  I 
s'pose  you're  leavin'  again." 

"Yes." 

She  said  it  gravely,  and  dropped  her  eyes 
from  his  kind  face. 

"For  how  long  this  time?" 

"Forever." 

The  word  was  spoken  quietly;  but  her  lips 
quivered. 

"What?"  The  man  started,  and  frowned. 

"Oh,  Hiram,"  —  the  lips  were  quivering 
still,  and  she  paused,  then  reached  up  a  hand 

330 


YOU'LL  HAVE  BREAKFAST  WITH   ME,  WON'T  YOU? 


White  Sweet  Peas 


which  was  quickly  lost  in  both  of  his,  — 
"can't  you  see?  I've  come  home." 

There  were  only  the  rocks,  and  the  beach, 
and  the  waves  that  hissed  and  broke,  to  look 
upon  them. 

Instantly  Hiram  was  beside  her  on  the 
garden-seat,  with  Betsy  in  his  arms,  her  thin 
cheek  pressed  against  his  broad  chest,  and 
sobs  convulsing  her  slender  body. 

He  scowled,  and  smiled  at  the  restless  sea 
across  his  precious  burden.  Not  a  word  he 
said,  but  his  big  hand  patted  her  in  gentle 
rhythm,  and  once  he  kissed  her  temple. 

At  last  she  pushed  herself  from  him,  and 
sat  up. 

"There's  one  favor  I'm  goin'  to  beg,"  she 
said,  with  pauses,  her  handkerchief  still  at 
her  eyes.  "That  is,  that  you  won't  ask  me 
why.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  n't  go  over  it." 

"My  Betsy,"  replied  the  captain  slowly, 
"there  was  only  one  question  I  ever  wanted  to 
ask  o'  you.  I  did  it  a  good  many  times,  'cause 
you  did  n't  give  the  right  answer.  Now  you  've 
done  it,  and  I  sha'n't  ask  ye  anything  more." 

"And  Hiram,"  she  went  on,  struggling  for 
self-control,  "I  have  a  feelin'  as  if  —  as  if  I 
did  n't  want  it  —  to  happen  here." 


Clever  Betsy 


"What?"  asked  the  captain,  doubtfully, 
"breakfast?" 

"No  — no  — the  — I  feel  as  if  I  didn't 
want  any  minister  in  Fairport." 

"I  see."  He  nodded.  "Leave  it  to  me, 
Betsy.  Leave  everything  to  me.  I  know  I'm 
a  blunderer  lots  o'  times;  but  I'll  attend  to 
this  right.  I  love  ye."  He  drew  her  down 
again  on  his  comfortable  shoulder.  "Will  ye 
come  in?"  he  asked,  after  a  minute. 

"No.   I'll  stay  out  here,  Hiram." 

"All  right."  He  kissed  her  forehead.  "To 
think  ye '11  stay!"  he  said  softly.  "That's 
the  wonderful  part  of  it.  To  think  ye '11  stay!" 

He  went  into  the  house  and  brought  a 
calico  cushion  with  him  from  somewhere, 
putting  it  behind  her  back.  She  accepted  it, 
too  spent  to  smile. 

Hiram  saw  her  pallor,  and  hastened  the 
breakfast.  Soon  a  little  table  appeared  before 
the  garden-seat,  and  coffee  and  toast  and  eggs 
were  speedily  forthcoming. 

He  sat  beside  her,  and  arranged  everything 
with  the  utmost  care. 

"How  good  you  are !"  she  said,  once. 
Otherwise  she  was  silent,  and  so  was  he. 

Before  they  had  finished,  a  small  boy 
332 


White  Sweet  Peas 


entered  the  gate  with  papers  under  his  arm. 
His  jaw  dropped  as  he  recognized  the  captain 
and  a  guest  at  breakfast  under  the  ragged 
balm-of-Gilead  tree. 

"B'Judas,  I  forgot  him,"  muttered  the  host. 
"Come  here,  sonny." 

The  boy  obeyed,  and  mechanically  handed 
the  captain  his  paper  while  keeping  unwinking 
eyes  on  Betsy.  "Now  d'ye  want  to  earn  a 
quarter?" 

"Yus." 

"Well,  go  to  Mrs.  Bachelder  and  tell  her 
somethin'  for  me.  Think  ye  can?" 

"Yus." 

"She's  ben  wantin'  to  go  to  Portland  and 
do  some  tradin'.  Can  you  tell  her  that  I've 
got  some  business  to  do  that'll  keep  me  away 
all  to-day  and  she  need  n't  come  over  to  get 
dinner?" 

"Yus." 

"And  she  can  go  up  town  to-day  or  to- 
morrer  mornin'  and  do  her  tradin'  if  she  wants 
to.  Can  ye  tell  her  that?" 

"Yus." 

"Well,  go  on  then.  Here's  yer  quarter. 
Go  right  there  from  here.  D'ye  hear?" 

"Yus." 

333 


Clever  Betsy 


"If  I  find  to-morrer  that  ye  have  n't  done 
it,  I'll  use  ye  for  porgie-bait.  Understand?" 

"Yus."  ' 

With  this  the  boy  removed  his  eyes  from 
Betsy  for  the  first  time,  and  ran  at  a  dog-trot 
toward  the  beach. 

"I  never  saw  that  child,"  said  Betsy. 

"No.  There's  another  generation  comin' 
up.  He  won't  be  able  to  tell  Mrs.  Bachelder 
who's  havin'  breakfast  with  me;  and  when 
she  comes  home  from  Portland  she'll  get  a 
letter  tellin'  her  she's  lost  her  job." 

"I'll  write  it,"  said  Betsy.  "She's  a  good 
soul." 

"You '11  write  it!"  The  captain  was  stand 
ing,  and  he  paused,  a  cup  and  saucer  in  each 
hand,  and  gazed  at  her  admiringly.  "Clever 
Betsy!  and  she's  mine." 

"She's  taken  good  care  of  you,  Hiram.  I 
want  her  to  know  we  appreciate  it." 

"We!"  repeated  the  radiant  man.  "You 
care  that  I've  been  took  good  care  of,  Betsy?" 

The  coffee  had  restored  some  energy  to  the 
guest.  She  gave  her  one-sided  smile.  "I  do 
wish,  Hiram,"  she  said  deprecatingly,  "that 
you  would  n't  feel  you  Ve  got  so  much  in 
gettin'  me." 

334 


White  Sweet  Peas 


To  her  consternation  he  dropped  the  gold- 
banded  old  china  he  had  been  holding.  Both 
cups  fell  in  tinkling  pieces  on  the  ground  as  he 
wiped  his  eyes,  and  blew  his  nose  lustily. 

"O  Hiram!"  she  cried,  starting. 

"Never  mind,  dear."  The  man's  breath 
caught.  "I  didn't  notice.  I  had  to  work  at 
the  pumps.  Our  ship  o'  matrimony  is  bein' 
launched.  Let's  say  we  broke  'em  on  pur 
pose  over  it.  Nothin'  was  too  good.  Set 
still." 

And  Betsy  did.  She  leaned  back  against  the 
calico  cushion  and  let  her  faithful  lover  carry 
away  the  table,  while  she  watched  the  sea,  and 
breathed  the  sumptuous  perfume  of  the  sweet 
peas. 

The  last  thing  Hiram  carried  into  the  house 
was  the  traveling-bag.  Her  hand  went  out 
to  it  involuntarily  as  he  picked  it  up;  but  he 
looked  at  her,  and  she  leaned  back  again,  and 
let  it  go. 

At  last  he  took  his  knife,  and  going  about 
the  flowers,  cut  a  large  bunch  of  white  sweet 
peas.  These  he  tied  with  a  piece  of  linen 
thread,  and  Betsy  smiled  as  he  gave  them  to 
her.  He  watched  while  she  fastened  them  in 
the  front  of  her  white  waist. 

335 


Clever  Betsy 


"Are  you  ready  now?"  he  asked. 

For  answer  she  rose,  and  together  they 
moved  down  to  the  floating  wharf,  and  Hiram 
handed  her  into  the  row-boat  by  which  they 
went  out  to  the  Clever  Betsy. 

It  took  some  time  to  unfurl  the  sails  and 
put  them  up,  and  Betsy  went  into  the  little 
cabin  and  made  acquaintance  with  her  name 
sake. 

It  was  queer,  she  thought,  that  it  did  n't 
seem  queerer  to  be  here,  and  irresponsible  of 
all  things  earthly  except  Hiram.  Even  Rosalie 
did  not  need  her.  Last  night's  arraignment 
was  proof  positive  of  her  success. 

Her  duty  was  here  now,  and  nowhere  else; 
and  the  wonderful  feature  of  the  position  was 
that  it  seemed  so  natural,  and  —  yes,  so  sweet. 
As  the  boat  bounded  forward,  borne  on  strong 
white  wings,  Betsy's  heart  seemed  to  soar 
also  into  some  new  and  freer  region.  Some 
wireless  message  from  a  New  England  ances 
try  reached  her. 

"Is  it  right  to  be  so  happy?"  she  asked 
herself.  Suddenly  she  turned  and  met  Hiram's 
eyes. 

"This  is  a  long  leg,  Betsy,"  he  said  quietly. 
"Come  over  and  sit  against  this  cushion.  I 

336 


White  Sweet  Peas 


want  to  get  my  hand  on  ye  and  know  it  ain't 
a  dream." 

"Yes,  it's  right!"  answered  Betsy's  heart, 
and  she  obeyed. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


IN  BETSY'S  ROOM 


MRS.  BRUCE  did  not  sleep  much  after  her 
stormy  ebullition.  She  heard  Irving  and  Rob 
ert  come  in,  and  knew  that  Irving  came  softly 
to  her  door  and  tried  it.  Finding  it  locked,  he 
moved  away  as  quietly.  She  knew  he  was  feel 
ing  a  tardy  anxiety  about  her,  and  she  wept 
again. 

Toward  morning  she  fell  asleep,  and  when 
next  her  eyes  opened,  the  sun  was  high. 

Only  the  slumberous  sound  of  the  sea  broke 
the  Sabbath  stillness. 

From  force  of  habit  Mrs.  Bruce  put  her 
hand  out  to  touch  the  bell  on  the  table  beside 
her  bed.  It  always  summoned  Betsy  with  the 
cup  of  hot  water  she  liked  to  drink  before  she 
rose. 

She  arrested  her  own  movement.  What! 
Was  Betsy  to  be  allowed  to  fall  into  the  usual 
routine  and  minister  to  her  mistress's  needs 
as  if  nothing  had  happened? 

Summon  her?    Certainly  not.    Betsy  must 

338 


In  Betsy's  Room 


be  made  to  feel  that  a  change  had  taken  place, 
and  that  she  must  exhibit  some  regret  before 
she  could  be  received  back  into  favor. 

So  Mrs.  Bruce  arose  and  made  her  toilet, 
and  donning  a  negligee  of  silk  and  lace,  pro 
ceeded  to  the  dining-room. 

Irving  and  Robert  were  already  there,  and 
Alice,  the  cook,  was  putting  breakfast  on  the 
table.  Irving  strode  forward  to  meet  her. 
He  noted  her  heavy  eyes  as  he  kissed  her 
forehead. 

"Pardon,  Madama,  I  thought  you  were  n't 
coming  down.  Nixie  and  I  are  in  a  hurry,  and 
as  long  as  Betsy  was  busy  with  you,  I  asked 
Alice  to  put  the  things  on  the  table." 

Mrs.  Bruce  moved  to  her  place.  "Betsy 
has  n't  been  with  me,"  she  said. 

"She  hasn't?  The  poor  dear  must  be  ill 
then,"  said  Irving  with  concern.  "Alice  says 
she  has  n't  been  downstairs.  Go  up,  will  you," 
he  continued  to  the  cook  who  was  just  leaving 
the  room,  "please  go  up  to  Betsy's  room  and 
see  what  is  the  matter." 

The  three  seated  themselves,  and  Mrs. 
Bruce's  dainty  hands  grew  busy  with  the 
coffee  percolator.  Irving's  furtive  glances 
assured  him  that  there  had  been  a  storm. 

339 


Clever  Betsy 


Discretion  suggested  that  no  reference  be 
made  to  last  evening.  Fearing  therefore  that 
Nixie  might  err  in  that  line,  he  hastened  to 
speak. 

"We've  a  great  plan  on  for  to-day,  Ma- 
dama,"  he  began,  "and  you're  in  it." 

"That  is  certainly  surprising,"  rejoined  the 
lady. 

"We  tried  to  find  you  at  the  inn  to  tell  you 
about  it  last  night,"  said  Nixie  with  insistent 
cheer,  "but  you  were  so  exclusive,  nobody 
knew  where  you  were,  and  at  last  we  found 
you  had  come  home." 

Mrs.  Bruce's  lips  compressed  firmly  and  her 
eyes  could  not  lift  above  the  percolator. 

Irving  stepped  warningly  on  his  friend's 
foot  under  the  table.  At  this  juncture  Alice 
returned.  She  seemed  to  be  laboring  under 
some  excitement  which  made  her  forget  her 
previous  embarrassment  in  the  unfamiliar 
region  of  the  dining-room. 

"Betsy  is  n't  there,"  she  said. 

"Queer,"  remarked  Irving,  without  looking 
up  from  the  egg  he  was  breaking. 

"She's  gone /"  declared  the  girl. 

"Look  on  the  dresser!"  burst  forth  Robert 
dramatically.  "The  note  will  be  found." 

340 


In  Betsy's  Room 


Mrs.  Bruce  paused,  coffee-cup  in  hand,  and 
looked  at  the  cook,  but  did  not  speak. 

"All  right,  Alice,"  said  Irving  carelessly. 
"She  has  run  into  a  neighbor's." 

"No,  sir,  it  looks  queer  up  there,"  returned 
the  girl,  her  brogue  increasing.  "  The  bed 
clothes  is  all  folded.  Not  a  thing  is  on  the 
dresser,  sir.  She's  gone." 

Alice's  blank  expression  began  to  be  re 
flected  in  Irving's  face. 

"Folded?  What  does  that  signify?"  he 
asked. 

"  'T  is  her  trunk  there  too,  sir.  Locked  and 
strapped  it  is.  Sure  she  niver  said  a  word  to 
me!" 

Irving  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table. 
He  looked  at  Mrs.  Bruce.  She  had  grown  very- 
white. 

"Very  well,  Alice,"  he  said  quietly.  "I'll 
see  what  it  means.  Thank  you.  You  may  go." 

The  Irish  girl  withdrew,  marvelling  as  she 
went. 

Robert  looked  from  mother  to  son,  puzzled 
at  their  seriousness. 

"Did  you  know  this,  Madama?" 

"Certainly  not,"  she  replied  stiffly. 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 


Clever  Betsy 


"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  Betsy  grows 
more  erratic  every  day.  She  did  n't  bring  my 
hot  water  this  morning." 

Irving  studied  her  face  an  instant  more, 
then  he  left  the  room  and  ran  upstairs  to 
Betsy's  room.  It  was  dismantled.  The  dresser, 
where  a  flexible  case  had  always  stood  open, 
containing  six  pictures  of  himself  from  baby 
hood  to  college  days,  was  bare,  even  of  a  cover. 
A  trunk,  locked  and  strapped,  stood  a  little 
way  out  from  the  bare  wall. 

Irving  sat  down  on  it  in  the  desolate  cham 
ber,  unnerved  by  the  shock;  and  although  the 
riddle  seemed  a  horribly  easy  one  to  solve, 
the  solution  was  so  repulsive  that  he  prayed 
to  find  another  explanation. 

Mrs.  Bruce's  early  disappearance  from  the 
inn,  her  heavy  eyes  this  morning,  Betsy's 
warnings  and  exhortations  to  him  in  the  Park, 
and  Mrs.  Bruce's  exhibition  of  unfriendliness 
to  Rosalie  last  night,  all  pointed  to  one  con 
clusion.  His  teeth  clenched  as  he  sat  there, 
thinking  back  from  his  earliest  remembrance, 
and  all  along  through  his  life,  of  the  unselfish 
care  which  a  fine  nature  had  devoted  to  his 
family.  And  this  was  the  end.  It  was  a  night 
mare.  It  was  impossible,  unthinkable. 

342 


In  Betsy's  Room 


Robert  Nixon,  left  alone  with  his  hostess, 
had  seldom  spent  a  more  uncomfortable  season 
than  that  first  five  minutes  after  Irving's 
departure. 

Mrs.  Bruce  stared  straight  before  her,  her 
face  wearing  an  expression  of  fright  and  ob 
stinacy. 

Robert,  with  increasing  embarrassment, 
began  to  feel  that  he  was  in  the  midst  of  some 
mysterious  crisis,  and  fervently  wished  him 
self  in  the  bosom  of  his  family  at  the  inn. 

"I'm  sorry  to  see  you  look  so  tired,  Mrs. 
Bruce,"  he  said,  when  the  long  minutes  had 
made  the  silence  impossible. 

"Should  n't  you  think  he'd  come  down  by 
this  time?  "  she  asked  in  a  strained  voice.  "You 
see  how  it  is,  Nixie.  Betsy  rules  this  household 
with  a  rod  of  iron.  Here  is  Irving  upset,  won't 
eat  his  breakfast,  just  because  she  has  taken  a 
notion  for  an  early  stroll." 

Robert  did  not  answer,  and  a  cuckoo  pop 
ping  out  of  its  door  and  remarking  that  it  was 
half-past  nine,  made  him  jump  nervously. 

An  instant  later  Mrs.  Bruce  pushed  her 
chair  back  from  the  table,  unable  longer  to 
endure  the  suspense. 

"You'll  excuse  me,  Nixie,  if  I  see — "  she 
343 


Clever  Betsy 


said,  and  rose.  The  laces  of  her  silken  gown 
trailed  so  hurriedly  through  the  door,  that 
Robert  had  time  but  to  take  a  step  after  her. 

He  sank  back  in  his  chair. 

"Well,  what  does  it  all  mean?"  he  mur 
mured.  "This  is  a  cozy  little  vacation  break 
fast!" 

Mrs.  Bruce  held  her  lip  between  her  teeth  as 
she  mounted  the  stairs. 

"Whatever  has  happened,"  she  thought, 
"I  shall  hold  my  own.  What  I  said  to  Betsy 
was  nothing  but  the  truth.  Irving  will  cross- 
question  me,  but  I  don't  care  — " 

Her  excitement  was  at  fever-heat  by  the 
time  she  reached  the  open  door  of  Betsy's 
room. 

She  paused  there  and  supported  herself 
against  the  jamb.  What  she  saw  acted  like  a 
shower-bath  upon  her. 

The  familiar  walls  were  stripped,  the  breeze 
blew  through  the  silent,  empty  room,  and  there, 
seated  on  the  trunk,  was  Irving,  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands,  his  broad  shoulders  con 
vulsed. 

The  only  time  she  had  ever  seen  him  weep 
was  when  his  father  died.  This  room,  too, 
seemed  like  the  chamber  of  death. 

344 


In  Betsy's  Room 


"Irving!"  she  cried  out  in  sudden  pain,  and 
ran  to  him. 

He  put  out  one  hand  and  held  her  off.  She 
pressed  her  own  lips  with  her  fingers  to  hold 
their  quivering,  and  stared  at  him,  miserably. 

He  rose  from  the  trunk,  walked  over  to  the 
window,  and  stood  there  with  his  back  to  her, 
controlling  himself  and  wiping  his  eyes. 

Betsy's  words  seemed  to  echo  in  her  heart 
as  she  stood,  hesitating  and  wretched. 

"Of  the  unspoken  word  you  are  master. 
The  spoken  word  is  master  of  you." 

Her  breath  came  fast.  "Why  has  she  done 
this,  Irving?"  she  asked  unsteadily. 

"That  is  for  you  to  tell,  —  if  you  will,"  he 
answered.  His  voice  was  low  and  thick. 

She  drew  a  long  sobbing  breath.  He  had 
pushed  her  away.  He  had  shrunk  from  her. 

"You  blame  me,  do  you,  before  you  have 
heard  a  word?"  she  asked. 

"Let's  not  have  any  nonsense,  or  justifica 
tion,"  he  answered,  without  turning.  "Some 
thing  has  occurred  which  I  would  have  given 
ten  years  of  my  life  to  prevent." 

The  iron  entered  his  listener's  soul.  All  her 
body  trembled.  She  did  not  know  that  at  this 
very  moment  he  was  fighting  for  her  against 

345 


Clever  Betsy 


his  own  heart;  forcing  himself  to  remember  her 
love  for  him,  and  the  long  years  of  her  devo 
tion.  A  petty,  petted  woman,  he  reminded 
himself,  whose  shallows  he  had  perceived  even 
as  a  child;  and  he  controlled  the  anger  against 
her  which  filled  him;  setting  a  guard  upon  the 
tongue  that  longed  to  lash  her  until  her  piti 
ful  vanity  should  be  dead  beyond  recall.  She 
stood  there,  mute,  and  he  continued  to  stand 
with  his  back  to  her. 

"You  left  the  inn  last  night,  in  anger,"  he 
said  at  last. 

"Hurt!   So  hurt,  Irving,"  she  cried. 

"You  came  home  and  wreaked  your  ill- 
temper  on  Betsy  —  Betsy,  whose  little  finger 
is  of  more  worth  than  your  whole  body  and 


mine." 


Mrs.  Bruce  panted  and  flushed.  "I  did  talk 
to  her  of  her  ill  judgment  —  you  don't  know, 
Irving  —  what  do  you  think  of  her  spending 
her  savings  of  years  on  Rosalie  Vincent?" 

"She  did  n't." 

"Why,  of  course  she  did.  Who  else  paid  the 
hundreds  of  dollars  which  brought  her  here 
and  equipped  her?" 

"An  old  friend  of  her  father's  family.  Betsy 
had  no  need  to  spend  a  cent  for  her,  although 

346 


In  Betsy's  Room 


she  would  have  asked  nothing  better,  I  have 
no  doubt;  because  her  life  has  been  spent  in 
doing  for  others.  She  knew  that  Rosalie  would 
not  accept  such  gifts  from  her,  because  that 
girl  is  a  kindred  noble  soul." 

Mrs.  Bruce  took  a  step  backward  in  this 
destruction  of  the  very  foundation  of  her 
defense. 

"I  don't  ask  to  know  all  the  pitiful  scene 
that  took  place.  This,"  Irving  indicated  the 
desolation  of  the  room  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand,  "this  speaks.  Betsy  has  gone — " 

"She  did  it  in  revenge,"  cried  Mrs.  Bruce. 
"  She  knew  how  it  would  make  you  suffer.  She 
wanted  to  punish  me." 

"Alas!"  said  Irving,  "I  know  Betsy.  She 
has  been  driven  out  of  my  father's  house  — 
my  house  —  without  first  talking  to  me ;  with 
out  putting  her  good  arms  around  my  neck 
The  speaker's  voice  stopped  short;  his 
shoulders  were  again  convulsed. 

Mrs.  Bruce  stood  in  the  same  spot,  watching 
him  with  miserable  eyes,  wringing  her  hands. 

"Don't  —  don't  say  such  things,  Irving. 
Don't  feel  so.  I'll  —  I'll  do  anything.  I'll  find 
her  and  —  and  apologize  —  I  was  mistaken  — 
I'll  say  so." 

347 


Clever  Betsy 


Irving  made  a  gesture  of  repression.  She 
gazed  at  him,  mute  and  miserable. 

At  last  he  turned  and  faced  her.  She  was  a 
figure  to  excite  compassion  in  that  moment, 
as  she  met  the  regard  of  his  reddened  eyes. 

"It  is  too  late  for  that,  Madama.  The 
break  has  come.  It  can't  be  mended.  Betsy 
would  never  go  in  this  way  if  there  were  a 
possibility  of  her  coming  back." 

A  sense  of  her  own  loss  came  to  Mrs.  Bruce 
with  the  kinder  tone  of  Irving's  voice. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you  also  of  another 
matter;  of  the  cause  of  your  excitement  last 
night,  before  we  part." 

"Part!"  she  repeated  acutely. 

"I  mean  only  leaving  this  room.  I  wish  for 
your  own  sake  that  you  may  regret  the  un- 
womanliness  of  your  attitude  toward  Miss 
Vincent  —  Rosalie." 

Mrs.  Bruce  lifted  questioning,  dilated  eyes. 

"To  think  that  it  was  she  —  that  innocent 
girl,  who  could  move  you  to  cause  this  disaster. 
Examine  your  own  consciousness.  See  what 
it  is  that  could  give  the  Powers  of  Darkness 
such  easy  access  and  sway." 

"I  was  jealous,  Irving  —  jealous  of  Mrs. 
Nixon—" 

348 


In  Betsy's  Room 


"And  angry  because  you  could  not  domi 
nate  the  situation,"  added  Irving. 

A  painful  color  burned  Mrs.  Bruce's  face. 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you,"  he  went  on  after 
a  pause,  "that  no  girl  I  have  ever  met  has 
attracted  me  as  Rosalie  Vincent  does." 

"Irving!" 

.  "I've  known  many  charming  girls.  They 
are  all  in  one  class.  She  is  in  another.  I  don't 
understand  it.  I  don't  know  what  it  may  mean. 
I  tell  you  this  because  it  may  mean  everything 
to  me;  and  I  feel  it  is  due  you  to  know  it, 
since  your  sentiment  toward  Rosalie  seems 
so  strong.  Then  you  can  decide  what  your 
attitude  will  be  for  the  remainder  of  the  sum 


mer." 


Mrs.  Bruce  regarded  him,  her  lips  apart. 

After  a  pause  he  spoke  in  his  ordinary  voice. 

"We  planned  last  evening  that  the  Yellow 
stone  party  should  go  on  a  picnic  to-day  with 
Captain  Salter.  Do  you  care  to  go?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Nor  I.  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  have 
this  day,  alone."  Again  his  throat  closed. 

"To  mourn!  to  mourn!"  thought  Mrs. 
Bruce,  wretchedly. 

"But  I  can't.  I  must  go  at  once  to  see  the 
349 


Clever  Betsy 


captain,  and  then  up  to  the  inn.  Good-by, 
Madama."  He  approached  and  laid  a  hand 
on  her  shoulder.  He  realized  the  blow  he  had 
given  her.  "We  must  do  the  best  we  can," 
he  said,  and  left  the  room. 

She  stood  there,  long,  in  the  same  position. 

"I  wonder,"  she  thought  confusedly,  "if 
I  am  not  the  most  miserable  woman  in  the 
world." 

After  a  while  she  moved,  and  spoke  through 
a  tube  which  led  to  the  kitchen.  She  told 
Alice  that  she  would  not  need  to  get  any  din 
ner.  Then  she  went  to  her  room  and  closed 
the  door.  Stillness  reigned  again  but  for  the 
subdued  roar  of  waves. 

"Some  one  will  come  for  her  trunk,"  she 
reflected.  "If  she  took  a  morning  train  it  will 
have  to  be  expressed." 

She  held  to  that  thought  in  the  long  hours 
of  exhaustion  that  followed.  Some  one  would 
come  for  the  trunk,  and  she  must  not  be  asleep. 

The  middle  of  the  afternoon  a  wagon 
stopped  before  the  house.  Mrs.  Bruce  was 
off  her  bed,  alertly. 

The  feet  of  the  expressman  sounded  on  the 
stairs.  Mrs.  Bruce  met  him  in  the  upper  hall. 
To  her  relief  it  was  a  stranger  who  appeared. 

350 


In  Betsy's  Room 


"A  trunk  to  go  from  here?"  he  said. 

"Yes."  She  led  the  way.  "Is  it  prepaid?" 
she  asked  as  he  laid  hands  upon  it. 

"No." 

"Sha'n't  I  do  it  then?  Where  is  it  to  go?" 
The  speaker's  heart  beat  fast  under  the  care 
less  words. 

"No,  ma'am.  No  need.  Cap'n  Salter's 
good." 

"Captain—"  She  arrested  herself.  "Oh, 
it's  to  go  to  the  captain's." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Bruce  returned  to  her  room  and  sat 
on  the  side  of  the  bed  in  deep  meditation. 
Betsy  might  store  her  possessions  in  the 
house  of  an  old  friend  until  her  plans  were 
made. 

The  sense  of  desolation  that  overtook  her 
as  the  trunk  had  disappeared  submerged  her 
afresh;  and  Irving's  words  returned  to  pierce 
her. 

Rosalie  Vincent  —  in  a  class  by  herself.  Her 
splendid  Irving,  whose  career  was  to  have  made 
her  life  one  pageant  of  gratified  pride. 

She  sank  upon  her  pillows  with  a  groan. 
Her  world  was  falling  about  her  like  a  flimsy 
house  of  cards. 


Clever  Betsy 


In  the  evening  she  heard  him  come  in.  He 
had  to  pass  her  room  to  get  to  his.  She  stood 
in  the  open  doorway. 

"Did  you  enjoy  your  picnic,  dear?"  she 
asked,  as  he  appeared. 

"  We  did  n't  have  any.  I  found  Captain 
Salter's  house  deserted,  and  his  boat  gone. 
I  Ve  been  taking  a  long  walk." 

"Indeed!  I  thought  perhaps  you  would 
find  —  find  Betsy  at  Captain  Salter's." 

"Why?"  the  question  was  quick. 

"Her  trunk  went  there  this  afternoon." 

"Madama!" 

Mrs.  Bruce  felt  a  faint  satisfaction  in  the 
amazement  her  information  conveyed. 

"I  wonder — "  said  Irving;  and  repeated 
vaguely,  "I  wonder." 

"  I  thought  she  might  be  storing  it  there," 
hazarded  Mrs.  Bruce  meekly. 

Irving  stood,  thinking,  for  a  minute,  but 
to  her  disappointment  he  made  no  reply. 

"Good-night,"  he  said,  and  kissed  her  fore 
head  as  he  had  always  done. 

He  went  on  to  his  room,  his  thoughts 
busy. 

The  house  was  deserted.  The  boat  was  gone. 
That  was  what  she  had  done,  then. 

352 


In  Betsy's  Room 


"Betsy!  Dear  Betsy!"  he  murmured. 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  then  took  a  sudden 
determination. 

Like  a  thief  he  stole  downstairs  without  a 
sound,  and  out  of  doors. 

Then  he  started  on  a  slow,  steady  run  down 
the  village  street.  It  was  not  a  long  pull  to  the 
isolated  cottage  among  the  rocks,  and  when 
he  came  in  sight  of  it  he  was  rewarded  by 
seeing  a  light  in  the  windows. 

Stealthily  drawing  near,  he  peered  within. 
There  he  could  see  a  cheerful  tea-table,  and 
Captain  Salter  and  Betsy  eating  their  late 
supper. 

A  lump  rose  in  his  throat.  The  trunk  still 
stood  on  the  piazza,  and  he  passed  it,  to  open 
the  door  gently.  Smiling  and  dim-eyed  he 
stood  before  the  pair,  who  pushed  their  chairs 
back  from  the  table. 

"Well,  Irving!"  cried  the  captain's  big 
voice. 

He  extended  a  welcoming  hand,  but  the 
visitor  did  not  see  it.  He  had  fallen  on  his 
knees  beside  the  bride's  chair,  and  buried  his 
face  in  her  lap. 

She  put  both  arms  around  his  shoulders  as 
she  had  done  a  hundred  times  to  console  some 

353 


Clever  Betsy 


childish  grief,  and  sudden  tears  rained  from 
the  eyes  she  raised  to  her  husband. 

The  captain  rose,  and  walked  over  to  the 
window. 

Irving  lifted  his  cheek  to  Betsy's  breast. 

"Mr.  Irving,  dear,"  she  said  brokenly,  "you 
know  — " 

"Yes.  Don't  explain.  Don't  speak.  I  know. 
But  I  remember,  Betsy.  I  remember  so  much, 
that  I  could  n't  stay  away.  My  mother  and 
you,  Betsy.  My  mother  and  you.  —  So  much. 
—  So  much  that  I  can't  say  —  But  my  heart 
is  full  of  it  —  and  I  wanted  to  kiss  you  —  to 
kiss  you  before  I  went  to  sleep." 

"Darling  boy!  Darling  child!"  said  Betsy, 
and  pressed  her  cheek  against  his  hair. 

Then  she  kissed  him  tenderly,  and  he  her, 
and  he  rose,  and  with  a  parting  caress  of  his 
hand  upon  hers,  crossed  to  the  bridegroom, 
quietly  blowing  his  nose  by  the  window. 

"Congratulations,"  he  said  thickly. 

The  captain  seized  his  offered  hand  speech 
lessly,  and  a  mighty  mutual  grip  ensued. 

Then  Irving  slipped  out  of  the  open  door, 
closed  it  softly  behind  him,  and  ran  down  the 
garden's  perfumed  path. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

BETSY   RECEIVES 

BETSY'S  letter  to  Mrs.  Bachelder  was  a  lighted 
match  to  a  fuse.  Within  an  hour  Betsy's  Fair- 
port,  to  a  man,  woman,  and  child,  knew  that 
she  had  linked  her  fortunes  to  Captain  Salter's. 

Mrs.  Pogram  was  one  of  the  first  to  call 
upon  the  bride.  Enveloped  in  a  black  shawl, 
and  moving  with  heavy  deliberation,  the 
mournful  lady  walked  up  the  path  bordered 
with  fragrant  pinks,  and  looked  with  lugu 
brious  but  appreciative  eyes  about  the  sunny 
garden  of  the  rock-bound  cottage. 

Betsy  saw  her  coming,  and  opened  the  door. 

"That's  right,  Mrs.  Pogram.  This  is  neigh 
borly,"  she  said. 

The  visitor  regarded  her  with  doleful  curi 
osity,  examining  her  gingham  dress  and  white 
apron,  and  the  smooth  arrangement  of  her  trim 
head,  with  approval. 

"You  look  awfully  well,  Betsy,"  she  said. 

"Will  you  come  in,  or  do  you  like  to  sit  out 
here  in  the  sunshine?" 

355 


Clever  Betsy 


Mrs.  Pogram  sniffed.  "The  grass  is  kind 
o'  damp,  I  guess,"  she  objected. 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Betsy.  "Come in,  then. 
Before  another  summer  we're  goin'  to  have  a 
real  nice  veranda  all  across  the  front." 

"How  you  talk!"  returned  the  caller,  fol 
lowing  her  inside  and  accepting  a  cushioned 
rocker.  "It  sounds  good  to  hear  of  anybody 
prosperin'.  I  have  n't  scarcely  got  my  breath 
since  I  heard  o'  your  marriage.  And  they  say 
you  was  n't  married  in  Fairport.  They  say 
you  took  the  boat  and  went  off  and  had  a 
preacher  from  Mere  Point  row  out  with  a 
witness  and  get  aboard  and  marry  you,  'cause 
Hiram  wanted  the  knot  tied  on  the  sea;  said 
he  was  goin'  to  have  a  sailor's  knot  and  make 
a  sure  thing  of  it.  And  then  I  heard  you  all 
danced  a  hornpipe!" 

Betsy  laughed  into  the  curious  face  with  its 
down-drawn  lips.  "What  a  good  time  some 
body  had  spinnin'  that  yarn,"  she  said.  "Now 
tell  me  about  yourself,  Mrs.  Pogram." 

"It  looks  awful  comfortable  here,"  declared 
the  visitor  wistfully.  "I  did  n't  know  as  you 
and  Hiram  was  goin'  to  get  married." 

"Well,  you  see  we  did.  I'm  your  neighbor 
now,  for  good." 

356 


Betsy  Receives 


"'T  is  good,  Betsy.   T  is  so." 

The  visitor  rocked  as  she  inspected.  Her 
gloomy  garb  and  countenance  in  the  cheerful 
room  gave  an  effect  as  of  a  portly  raven  in  a 
solarium. 

"If  you'd  'a'  give  folks  some  warnin',"  she 
went  on,  "you'd  'a'  had  presents  from  your 
well-wishers  and  old  friends.  Why  was  you 
so  suddent,  Betsy?" 

The  hostess  directed  a  one-sided  smile 
toward  the  open  window,  near  which  she  was 
sitting.  "Sometimes  things  that  seem  sudden 
have  been  a  long  time  growin',"  she  said. 

"I  s'pose  so.  I  think  a  sight  of  you,"  de 
clared  the  visitor  with  a  sniff.  "I'd  like 
nothin'  better 'n  to  give  you  a  spoon  if  I 
thought  there  was  any  hope  o'  Loomis  not 
noticin'  it;  but  Loomis  is  goin'  to  get  married 
himself,  and  he's  more'n  ever  set  on  keepin' 
the  estate  together.  I've  been  thinkin'  a 
whole  lot  about  it,  'cause  I've  decided  that 
when  he's  got  his  own  home  Pd  ruther  make 
a  division.  I'd  ruther  have  less  and  not  be 
pestered." 

"I  would,  too,"  said  Betsy. 

"And  if  that  time  ever  comes,  you  can  count 
on  me  for  a  spoon." 

357 


Clever  Betsy 


"Thank  you,"  returned  the  bride.  "Don't 
worry  about  it,  Mrs.  Pogram.  I  think  even 
more  of  the  will  than  the  deed." 

"Well,  I  heard  from  Rosalie  at  last,"  an 
nounced  the  caller.  "She  was  in  Boston,  and 
had  found  some  old  friend  of  her  father's  who 
was  doin'  for  her.  She  did  n't  say  much,  just 
a  real  pleasant  little  note,  sayin'  she  was  all 
right  and  would  let  me  hear  again  soon." 
Mrs.  Pogram  lowered  her  voice,  lest  her 
brother's  dapper  astral  body  might  be  float 
ing  near.  "Her  note  cheered  me  up  consid'able, 
Betsy,  and  I've  been  thinkin'  that  after 
Loomis  was  married  I  could  have  Rosalie 
back  again,  just  as  well  as  not!" 

Betsy's  face  grew  inscrutable.  "I  saw 
Rosalie  in  Boston  myself,"  she  began;  and  at 
that  moment  the  door,  which  had  been  ajar, 
opened,  and  the  girl  herself  appeared  before 
them. 

She  wore  a  dark-blue  sailor  suit,  her  sleeves 
were  rolled  up,  and  her  face  was  alight  with 
feeling. 

"I  heard  my  name!"  she  cried.  "Oh, 
Betsy,  I've  just  learned  about  you!" 

In  an  instant  the  two  were  locked  in  each 
other's  arms,  while  Mrs.  Pogram,  her  mouth 

358 


Betsy  Receives 


open,  her  eyes  winking  as  if  to  dispel  cobwebs, 
leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"Do  you  see  my  visitor?"  asked  Betsy. 

"Why,  Auntie  Pogram!  You?"  said  the 
girl;  and  hastening  to  the  sombre  figure,  she 
kissed  her.  "I  was  coming  to  see  you  to-day," 
she  went  on.  "It  was  my  first  opportunity. 
Everything  has  happened  so  fast." 

"You  're —  "  stammered  Mrs.  Pogram  amaz- 
edly,  "you're  livin'  in  Fairport,  Rosalie?" 

"Yes,  at  the  inn." 

If  it  were  possible  for  Mrs.  Pogram's  back 
to  cling  more  limply  to  her  chair,  it  did  so 
now. 

The  girl  laughed.  "Yes,  it's  a  fairy  story, 
Auntie  Pogram,  but  I'm  living  at  the  inn 
and  paying  for  my  board  in  the  pleasantest 
way." 

"Waitin'  on  table?"  asked  Mrs.  Pogram. 

"No;"  the  girl  flushed  and  laughed.  "Speak 
ing  pieces,  just  the  way  I  used  to  do  for  you." 

"You  don't  say  so!  I  was  just  tellin'  Betsy, 
Loomis  is  goin'  to  get  married;  and  then  I 
want  you  to  come  back  to  me,  Rosalie." 

A  creeping  nausea  stole  around  the  girl's 
heart. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  "but  I've  grown 
359 


Clever  Betsy 


so  conceited  I  believe  I  can  make  my  own 
living." 

Betsy  watched  her  in  fond  silence;  and  Rosa 
lie  returned  to  her  side.  "I  just  looked  in  to 
hug  you  and  to  say  I'm  glad,"  she  said.  "I'll 
come  again,  soon." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  to-day?"  asked 
Betsy. 

"I'm  going  canoeing  with  Mr.  Nixon." 

"With  Mr.  Nixon,"  repeated  Betsy. 

She  was  sorry  they  could  not  speak  alone. 
She  saw  by  the  girl's  face  there  was  much  she 
was  repressing. 

"The  people  are  planning  a  Yellowstone 
picnic  with  Captain  Salter,"  continued  Rosa 
lie.  "We're  to  sail  to  some  far-away  beach 
and  have  a  clambake.  Don't  forget  that 
you're  a  Yellowstoner  even  if  you  are  a 
bride." 

"Rosalie,"  returned  Betsy,  "if  the  people 
are  kind  enough  to  suggest  my  goin'  on  any 
o'  these  excursions,  I  want  you  to  tell  'em  that 
I'd  rather  not." 

The  girl  stood  silent  for  a  moment.  Robert 
had  told  her  as  much  as  he  knew,  which  was 
the  mere  fact  of  the  marriage.  He  had  asked 
nothing  of  Irving,  and  had  not  mentioned 

360 


Betsy  Receives 


Betsy's  flight;  but  Rosalie  guessed  enough 
to  understand. 

"You  can  tell  them  that  my  weddin'  was  a 
very  hurried  one  and  that  I'm  busy,  and  will 
be  all  summer,"  added  Betsy. 

The  girl  inspected  the  room. 

"I  was  here  once  before,"  she  said.  "How 
different  it  looks!" 

Betsy  smiled.  "I  guess  Cap'n  Salter  kept 
the  blinds  shut  a  good  deal,"  she  returned. 
"I  calc'late  to  make  it  look  real  nice  here 
before  I  get  through." 

Rosalie  looked  at  her  wistfully.  "Isn't  it 
fun!"  she  said.  "It's  a  pretty  cottage,  and  as 
for  what  you  see  from  here  —  why,  the  inn 
has  nothing  like  it." 

A  man's  step  crunched  the  garden-path  and 
a  knock  sounded  at  the  door.  Robert  Nixon 
appeared. 

"May  I  come  in?"  he  cried  cheerfully. 
"Mrs.  Betsy!"  he  added,  as  the  hostess 
started  up,  "I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  time 
to  run  over  and  pay  my  respects,  for  I  knew 
you  had  company  anyway,  and  I  wanted  you 
to  know  that  I  bear  no  malice  for  your  un- 
kindness  in  the  past." 

Betsy    shook    hands    with    him    heartily. 

361 


Clever  Betsy 


"Mrs.  Pogram,  this  is  Mr.  Nixon,"  she 
said. 

Mrs.  Pogram's  eyes  had  found  their  greatest 
width,  and  they  remained  there,  unwinking, 
while  Robert  bowed. 

"Any  time's  a  good  time,  Mr.  Nixon," 
went  on  the  hostess.  "The  latch-string  will 
be  always  out." 

"Say,  this  is  pretty  nice,  do  you  know  it?" 
exclaimed  Robert,  looking  about.  "Such  a 
corking  view!" 

Seeing  Betsy  in  her  usual  trim  garb,  and 
with  no  line  of  care  in  her  forehead,  the  young 
man  asked  himself  if  she  could  bear  any  rela 
tion  to  that  tragical  Sunday  morning. 

"You  look  as  if  you'd  always  been  here," 
he  said. 

"I  really  feel  that  way,"  replied  Betsy. 
"Sit  down,  Mr.  Nixon." 

"I'd  like  to,  but  I  can't.  I  have  to  take  this 
young  lady  and  bear  her  off  to  my  light  canoe. 
Brute's  gone  to  Boston  and  it 's  my  in 
nings." 

Betsy  saw  Rosalie's  blush  and  the  sudden 
gravity  of  her  face. 

"She's  got  'em  all  cinched  up  there  at  the 
inn,"  he  rattled  on.  "Have  to  stand  in  line 

362 


Betsy  Receives 


now  to  get  an  hour  of  her.  Good-by,  Betsy  — 
I  don't  have  to  call  you  Mrs.  Salter,  do  I?" 

The  bride  laughed  and  reassured  him,  and 
with  a  few  more  words  the  young  people  dis 
appeared. 

" Who's  he?"  asked  Mrs.  Pogram  sepul- 
chrally. 

"A  young  man  from  Boston.  We  met  him 
in  the  Yellowstone." 

"Rosalie  said — "  began  the  visitor. 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Betsy,  returning  to  her 
seat  with  a  repressed  sigh.  "I'll  explain." 

Then  she  told  her  caller  the  outline  of 
Rosalie's  experience,  foreseeing  that  much 
future  heartburning  would  be  averted  by 
frankness. 

"Rosalie  and  I  came  pretty  close  out  there," 
she  finished,  "and  this  house '11  be  her  head 
quarters  next  winter  if  she  has  idle  times; 
which  I  don't  think  she  will." 

"But after  Loomis  is  married — "began  Mrs. 
Pogram. 

"Yes,  but  you  see  we  did  n't  know  Loomis 
was  goin'  to  be  married,  and  Cap'n  Salter 's 
very  fond  o'  Rosalie,  and  we've  made  our 
plans." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Pogram  reflectively.  "She 
363 


Clever  Betsy 


looks  like  a  new  girl.  I  did  n't  know  as  she  was 
so  pretty." 

"Some  evenin'  soon,"  said  Betsy  kindly, 
"you'll  come  over  here  to  supper  with  me, 
and  I  '11  fix  it  up  with  Sam  Beebe  to  let  us  go 
to  the  inn  and  sit  in  some  corner  outside  an 
open  window,  and  we'll  see  and  hear  Rosalie 
give  her  little  show.  You'll  be  real  pleased 
with  her." 

"I  guess  I  shall,"  returned  Mrs.  Pogram,  in 
a  sort  of  maze.  "I  guess  I  shall.  There  was 
always  somethin'  out  o'  the  ordinary  about 
her.  I  used  to  think  it  was  that  made  Loomis 
mad."  Mrs.  Pogram's  eyes  looked  into  a  void. 
"He's  goin'  to  marry  a  real  nice  girl — poor 
thing!"  she  added. 

Delicacy  restrained  Betsy  from  inquiring 
which  of  the  contracting  parties  was  thus 
apostrophized  by  a  fond  sister,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  her  caller  left. 

By  a  strange  coincidence  Mrs.  Pogram  was 
present  a  week  later,  when  one  afternoon 
Captain  Salter  approached  his  cottage  laden 
with  a  heavy  wooden  case  which  he  carried 
on  his  shoulder.  He  groaned  in  spirit  as  he 
beheld  through  the  window  the  visitor's  ample 
sable  proportions. 

364 


Betsy  Receives 


"That's  goin'  to  be  Betsy's  trouble,"  he 
muttered.  "Everybody  thinks  too  darned 
much  of  her." 

He  gave  the  caller  a  cheerful  nod,  however, 
as  he  entered  the  living-room.  He  was  too 
happy  himself  not  to  let  good  cheer  overflow 
upon  all  mankind. 

Betsy  regarded  the  heavy  case  with  sur 
prise. 

"What  ye  been  sendin'  to  Boston  for?" 
he  asked,  lowering  his  burden. 

"Nothin'.  To  Boston?  There's  some  mis 
take." 

She  approached  and  read  the  inky  address. 
"Mrs.  Hiram  Salter."  The  name  was  clear. 

Hiram  brought  some  tools  and  opened  the 
wooden  box,  then  began  to  take  out  the  pack 
ing  within. 

"It's  a  weddin'  present,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Pogram,  throwing  back  her  shawl  in  the  ex 
citement  of  the  moment,  and  thanking  the 
lucky  star  which  had  made  her  keep  on  from 
the  market  to  the  Salter  cottage. 

Tissue  paper  began  to  come  into  view. 

Hiram  looked  at  Betsy.  "I  guess  I've  gone 
as  far  as  I  darst,"  he  said. 

Color  came  into  her  cheeks  as  she  lifted  out 
365 


Clever  Betsy 


package  after  package  and  laid  them  on  the 
table.  Mrs.  Pogram  rocked  violently. 

Captain  Salter  lifted  away  the  wooden  case 
and  packing. 

An  envelope  caught  Betsy's  eye.  She  opened 
it  and  read  the  card  within. 

"O  Hiram!"  she  exclaimed  brokenly.  "It's 
Mr.  Irving!" 

"Irvin'  Bruce,"  cried  Mrs.  Pogram,  raising 
herself  in  her  chair  and  dropping  back  again. 

Betsy  gave  the  card  to  her  husband. 

He  read  on  it:  "To  dear  Betsy,  with  her 
boy's  love." 

A  slow,  broad  smile  grew  on  Hiram's  bronzed 
face,  and  he  watched  motionless  while  Betsy 
opened  her  treasures. 

Only  Mrs.  Pogram's  breathless  ejaculations 
broke  the  stillness. 

"I  never!  —  I  never  did!  —  Fit  for  a  queen! 
—  And  I  wanted  to  give  you  a  spoon!" 

For  the  morocco  cases  held  silver  with  the 
rose  pattern  which  Irving  knew  that  Betsy 
loved. 

There  were  a  dozen  tea-spoons,  half  a  dozen 
table-spoons,  and  the  same  number  of  forks 
and  silver  knives.  A  silver  teapot,  cream- 
pitcher  and  sugar-bowl  of  colonial  design 

366 


Betsy  Receives 


crowned  the  show.  Every  article  except  the 
knives  was  engraved  with  an  F.  upon  which 
Captain  Salter  gazed  with  admiration. 

The  good  soul  could  not  even  begrudge  Mrs. 
Pogram's  presence  at  the  unveiling  of  so  much 
splendor;  for  the  raven  more  nearly  resem 
bled  a  lark  now,  in  her  chirps  and  cries  of 

joy- 
Hiram  held  his  wife  in  an  embrace  while 
they  stood  looking  upon  the  array. 

"You  want  to  bring  the  burglars  down  on 
me,  that's  what  you  want,  Betsy." 

"Oh,  it's  too  handsome,  too  handsome!" 
Betsy  was  murmuring.  "Mr.  Irving  had  n't 
ought  to  spent  so  much  money!"  She  held 
the  card  against  her  breast. 

"I  hain't  a  particle  of  objection,"  said 
Hiram  jovially.  "Would  you  have,  Mrs.  Po- 
gram?" 

The  latter  was  eyeing  the  tea-set. 

"It's  lots  like  mine,"  she  answered,  with 
recovered  recollection  of  the  Brown-Pogram 
estate.  "I'm  just  bound  and  determined 
Loomis's  wife  shan't  have  my  tea-set!" 

"We  can't  do  anything  but  eat,  to  do  justice 
to  it,  Betsy,"  went  on  Hiram. 

And  she  turned  her  head  and  buried  her 

367 


Clever  Betsy 


face  on  his  breast,  while  he  kept  his  arms 
around  her. 

Mrs.  Pogram  began  to  be  inspired  with  the 
idea  that  perhaps  the  pair  would  not  mind 
being  left  alone  for  a  little  while. 

"Betsy's  kind  o'  worked  up,"  she  said 
leniently,  to  Hiram.  "She  set  so  much  store 
by  Irvin'.  I'll  just  go  on,  and  see  her  some 
other  time." 

Some  of  Mercury's  fleetness  was  lent  to  the 
visitor's  heavy  sandals  as  she  considered  the 
number  of  neighbors  she  could. see  on  her  way 
home;  and  before  bed-time  that  night,  it 
was  known  in  Fairport  that  the  Bruce  family 
had  given  to  Captain  Salter's  bride  a  com 
plete  dinner-service  of  solid  silver,  a  watch 
studded  with  diamonds,  and  Oriental  rugs  for 
every  room  in  the  cottage ! 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

GOOD-BY,    SUMMER 

ONE  errand  which  Irving  Bruce  performed  in 
Boston  besides  buying  Betsy's  wedding  pre 
sent,  was  to  seek  out  a  poor  relation  of  his 
step-mother's  in  her  suburban  home,  and 
carry  her  back  with  him  to  Fairport. 

He  wired:  "Miss   Frost  is  returning  with 


me." 


And  such  was  Mrs.  Bruce's  loneliness,  and 
worry,  and  desire  to  hide  from  her  friends, 
that  never  did  poor  relation  receive  a  more 
cordial  welcome. 

Miss  Frost,  a  bird-like  little  person  with  a 
high  apologetic  voice,  was  bewildered  with  joy 
ful  excitement. 

"  I  have  n't  a  thing  to  wear,  my  dear,  not 
a  thing!"  she  cried  to  her  hostess  on  her  ar 
rival;  "but  Irving  was  so  perfectly  lovely,  he 
would  n't  let  me  wait  for  anything;  and  he  told 
me  how  you've  let  that  valuable  Betsy  go  to 
this  faithful  lover  of  years,  so  like  you,  always 
to  think  of  others,  and  Irving  says  you  're  tired, 

369 


Clever  Betsy 


so  that  really  perhaps  I  can  take  some  care 
of  you,  and  it  will  be  such  a  joy  to  feel  that 
I'm  not  useless  in  this  beautiful,  beautiful 
spot,  and  you  never  could  look  anything  but 
pretty,  Laura,  but  I  do  think  you  show  the 
natural  fatigue  of  travel"  etc.,  etc. 

This  combination  of  flattery  and  confidence 
bound  up  some  of  Mrs.  Bruce's  wounds.  She 
did  make  the  newcomer  useful,  not  only  in  the 
actual  labor  of  housekeeping,  but  as  an  excuse 
for  not  going  where  she  did  not  wish  to  be. 

But  meanwhile  she  lived  a  life  within  her 
self  which  her  cousin  never  suspected.  Daily 
the  battle  between  love  and  pride  was  re 
newed.  Robert  Nixon  remained  with  them, 
and  through  him,  more  than  through  Irving, 
she  learned  of  Rosalie's  continued  vogue. 

She  declined  the  sailing  party  which  went 
out  with  Captain  Salter,  and  Miss  Frost  was 
with  difficulty  persuaded  to  go  in  her  place. 

Upon  her  return,  blown  and  dishevelled, 
but  joyful,  Mrs.  Bruce  met  her  cousin  with 
veiled  eagerness. 

"Did  they  think  it  very  strange  of  me  not 
to  come,  Lavinia?" 

"Why  of  course  they  were  disappointed" 
chirped  the  little  woman,  endeavoring  to  tuck 

370 


Good-by,  Summer 


up  the  flying  strands  of  her  gray  hair;  "but 
when  I  told  them  how  you  felt  it  a  duty  to  rest 
absolutely  for  a  week,  they  understood.  I  told 
them  how  I  disliked  to  leave  you  alone,  but 
that  you  never  could  think  of  yourself,  and 
were  determined  I  should  have  the  pleasure, 
and  so  I  came;  and  oh,  Laura,  it  was  the 
most  lovely  sail;  I  did  wish  every  minute  for 
you!" 

Mrs.  Bruce  in  her  chastened  state  drank 
in  the  praise  which  she  knew  was  sincere. 

"Lavinia  Frost  is  really  a  much  more  agree 
able  person  to  have  about  than  Betsy,"  she 
thought. 

Those  clear  eyes  of  Betsy's  which  had 
always  seemed  to  read  her  through  and 
through,  appeared  to  her  mental  vision  now 
as  she  mounted  the  stairs  after  her  cousin,  and 
followed  her  to  her  room,  remaining  with  her 
while  the  visitor  repaired  the  ravages  of  wind 
and  wave. 

"Do  you  think  Mrs.  Nixon  enjoyed  the 
excursion?"  asked  Mrs.  Bruce. 

Miss  Frost  raised  her  hands  and  dilated  her 
eyes  expressively.  "I'm  afraid  not!  She's  not 
a  good  sailor;  but  the  young  people  —  Oh, 
what  a  good  time  they  did  have,  Laura!" 


Clever  Betsy 


A  little  contracting  pain,  grown  familiar, 
seized  the  listener. 

"Go  on.  Tell  me  about  it,"  she  replied 
quietly. 

"Well,  you  know  how  amusing  Mr.  Nixon 
always  is,"  began  Miss  Frost,  spreading  cold 
cream  over  her  sunburn ;  "  (so  like  you,  dear 
Laura,  to  give  me  this  cream).  He  and  Miss 
Maynard  —  such  an  elegant  girl,  Miss  May- 
nard  —  and  dear  Irving,  and  that  lovely 
creature  Miss  Vincent,  all  four  sang  to 
gether." 

"Did  they?  Did  they  sing  well?" 

"Yes,  indeed;  but  you  know  they're  so  full 
of  fun  they  could  n't  stick  to  anything  serious, 
and  Miss  Vincent  sang  some  coon  songs. 
O  Laura,  that  girl  is  wonderfully  talented.  She 
made  Mr.  Derwent  laugh  as  hard  as  the  boys. 
Splendid-looking  man,  Mr.  Derwent.  I  really 
—  I  expect  I  'm  a  silly  old  thing,  but  I  could  n't 
help  weaving  romances  out  in  that  boat,  those 
four  delightful  young  people  were  so  tempting 
to  the  imagination." 

"Really?"  asked  Mrs.  Bruce.  "How  did 
you  pair  them  off  in  your  own  mind?" 

"I  did  n't  have  to  pair  them  off,"  twittered 
the  little  woman.  "Irving  was  beside  that 

372 


Good-by,  Summer 


charming  young  creature  with  the  gold  crown, 
—  you  know  the  way  that  broad  soft  braid 
goes  around  her  head,  —  he  was  beside  her  all 
the  time.  I  just  hoped  she  appreciated  his 
attentions;  but  do  you  know  I  watched  them 
closely,  and  I  never  saw  her  look  at  him  once! 
She  was  pleasant  and  gay  all  the  time,  —  but 
I  just  said  to  myself,  can  —  it  —  be  possible 
that  that  girl  is  more  attracted  by  our  droll 
Nixie  than  by  that  prince  ?  I  Ve  often  heard 
you  say  you  dreaded  Irving's  falling  in  love; 
you've  always  been  so  like  brother  and  sister, 
it  is  n't  to  be  wondered  at;  but  when  Mr. 
Nixon  told  me  what  a  good  angel  you'd  been 
to  that  talented  girl,  I  thought  I  could  see  that 
you  had  your  little  plans!" 

Lavinia  Frost  closed  one  eye,  and  nodded 
knowingly  at  her  cousin,  whose  flushed  face 
disclosed  nothing. 

"I  told  him  that  was  the  way  you'd  gone 
through  life.  I  told  him  about  the  stove  you 
gave  me  for  my  living-room,  and  now  what  a 
grand  outing  you  were  giving  me  here,  and  so 
thoughtfully  letting  me  feel  myself  of  some 
use.  O  Laura,  it's  a  splendid  thing  to  be  rich 
and  powerful,  but  it's  better  still  to  have  that 
big  heart  and  soul  that  uses  the  power  to 

373 


Clever  Betsy 


spread  blessings  along  the  paths  of  others  less 
fortunate!" 

Mrs.  Bruce  kept  silent.  Miss  Frost  washed 
the  cream  from  her  hands  and  began  winding 
up  her  sparse  hair. 

"It's  awfully  thin,  you  see.  Not  much  more 
than  nine  hairs,  Laura,"  she  laughed,  "three 
behind  to  braid,  and  one  on  each  side  to 
puff.  I  don't  want"  she  continued  after  a 
silence,  "to  see  anything  you  don't  wish  me 
to,  but  I  could  —  not  —  help  —  thinking  that 
Irving  admired  that  girl  extremely;  and  though 
I  know  you're  above  such  considerations,  I 
could  n't  help  being  glad  she  was  well-con 
nected  as  well  as  beautiful.  One  of  the  Der- 
went  family.  Think  of  it!  Mr.  Nixon  told 
me  so,  and  it  was  plain  to  see  that  Mr.  Der- 
went  thinks  the  world  of  her.  Such  an  elegant 
man !  And  what  do  you  suppose  he  said 
to  me,  Laura?  As  we  were  leaving  the  boat 
he  said  with  such  a  charming  bow  —  perfectly 
charming!  He  said,  'I  think  in  some  way 
you  have  been  given  the  wrong  name,  Miss 
Frost.  /  think  it  should  be  Miss  Spring!" 
Lavinia  gave  a  joyous  but  apologetic  giggle. 
"Was  n't  that  a  perfectly  lovely  thing  for  him 
to  say?" 

374 


Good-by,  Summer 


Mrs.  Bruce  regarded  the  speaker  thought 
fully. 

"Lavinia,"  she  said,  "how  should  you  like 
to  stay  with  me?" 

"Stay  with  you  —  my  dear?"  The  little 
woman  stood  stock-still,  the  dress  skirt  she 
was  about  to  put  on,  in  her  hand. 

"Yes,  —  keep  house  for  me  in  Boston." 

"Why,  Lavinia,  it  would  be  heaven  —  but, 
how  can  I!" 

"Why  can't  you?  It  is  only  to  give  up  a 
few  rooms  in  somebody  else's  house.  You're 
quite  alone." 

"I  suppose  I  am,"  replied  Lavinia  slowly, 
"but  somehow  I  never  realize  it." 

What  a  wealth  of  implication  lay  in  the 
simple  words!  Mrs.  Bruce  could  not  appreci 
ate  that,  but  she  persisted  in  her  plan,  which 
had  been  gradually  taking  form  for  days. 

A  capable,  useful,  refined  admirer  was  what 
her  beaten  and  dependent  soul  yearned  for. 

Tears  dimmed  Lavinia's  eyes  when  at  last 
she  accepted  the  offer. 

"Laura!"  she  exclaimed,  with  touching 
sincerity,  "you  have  been  planning  this  beauti 
ful  thing  for  me!  That  is  why  Irving  brought 
me  here.  Dear  Irving,  always  so  courteous, 

375 


Clever  Betsy 


he  has  been,  to  your  relatives!  Dear  Laura, 
when  do  you  ever  take  time  to  think  of  your 
self!" 

One  day  in  the  second  week  in  September, 
Betsy  stood  by  a  window  in  her  cottage  and 
saw  Rosalie,  in  hat  and  street  dress,  enter  the 
garden.  She  watched  the  girl  unnoticed,  and 
saw  her  turn  and  look  seaward.  Clouds  were 
scudding  along  the  sky,  and  swallows  circling 
against  the  strong  breeze.  Presently  Rosalie 
came  up  the  path. 

Betsy  threw  open  the  door.  "Welcome 
home!"  she  said,  and  embraced  her. 

"I'm  the  most  fortunate  girl  in  the  world," 
declared  Rosalie. 

Betsy  took  the  bag  she  carried.  "Let  me 
show  you  your  room,"  she  said. 

With  happy  pride  she  led  the  guest  up  the 
narrow  stairs,  and  ushered  her  into  a  com 
fortable  little  bower,  hung  in  white  dimity. 

Rosalie  turned,  and  gave  her  hostess  another 
hug.  "Why  should  you  be  so  good  to  me?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Because  you're  all  the  little  girl  I've  got," 
returned  Betsy.  "See  what  a  nice  cozy  corner 
that  makes  for  your  trunk!" 

V  376 


Good-by,  Summer 


Rosalie  regarded  her  affectionately.  "I 
have  the  greatest  news  for  you,"  she  said. 
"I  can  only  stay  two  days." 

"Answers  to  the  advertisement,  eh?"  asked 
Betsy  with  interest. 

" Better  than  that!  How  wonderfully  good 
people  are!  Mr.  Derwent  actually  went  to 
Portland  weeks  ago,  and  managed  somehow, 
so  that  yesterday  I  received  a  summons  from 
the  Moore  School  to  come  and  take  up  my 
work  there.  It  seems  that  some  of  the  faculty 
have  heard  me  at  the  inn,  and  it's  settled, 
practically." 

"All  the  better,  child.  Cap'n  Salter  and  I'd 
never  get  tired  o'  havin'  you  here,  but  you 
would  n't  be  satisfied  with  an  idle  winter  in 
Fairport.  Come  in  my  room  and  sit  down  for 
a  chat.  I'm  doin'  some  mendin',  and  we  can 
settle  all  the  affairs  o'  the  nation." 

Rosalie  followed  into  the  front  room,  and 
seated  herself  by  a  low  window  looking  out 
on  the  gray  billows. 

"Good-by,  summer,"  she  said,  as  if  to  her 
self. 

Betsy  glanced  at  her  and  sat  down  by  the 
bed  where  were  scattered  articles  of  cloth 
ing. 

377 


Clever  Betsy 


"The  swallows  are  making  them  ready  to  fly, 
Wheeling  out  on  a  windy  sky — " 

sang  the  girl  softly. 

"Well,"  said  Betsy,  "when  you  take  'count 
o'  stock,  what  sort  of  a  summer  has  it  been?" 

"Wonderful." 

"That  may  be,"  returned  Betsy,  "but  how 
about  the  net  result.  Would  you  like  to  live 
it  over  again?" 

"Yes,  indeed!"  was  the  fervent  reply. 
"No,  Betsy!  What  am  I  talking  about!  No, 
I  would  n't.  I  might  not  do  so  well  again." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  other, 
beginning  to  make  a  lattice-work  across  the 
vacant  toe  of  a  man's  sock.  "Do  you  mean 
professionally?" 

"Not  altogether,"  answered  the  girl  slowly. 

"Oh,  you  mean  socially  too,  eh?" 

"Yes." 

Silence,  while  the  breakers  struck  and  burst 
on  the  rock  at  the  left  of  the  cottage. 

"Whom  have  you  over  here  ?"  Rosalie  rose 
and  moved  to  the  dresser  where  a  flexible 
leather  case  stood  in  a  semi-circle.  "Captain 
Salter?"  She  picked  up  the  case.  "Irving!" 
she  added  in  a  different  tone,  and  studied  the 
six  pictures  with  down-drooped  face. 

378 


Good-by,  Summer 


"  See  the  envelope  standin'  there  against  the 
glass?  You  can  open  it.  It  came  with  my 
silver." 

Rosalie  obeyed.    "Oh!"  she  said  softly. 

Presently  Betsy  spoke  again:  "I've  heard 
a  lot  about  how  popular  you've  been  all 
summer.  Says  I  to  myself,  there's  safety  in 
numbers,  says  I." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Rosalie,  "there's  safety  in 
numbers." 

She  returned  the  card  to  its  envelope. 

"Take  the  pictures  over  to  the  window  if 
you'd  like  to,"  said  Betsy,  mending  busily. 

"No,  thank  you,"  returned  the  girl;  and 
placing  the  case  as  she  had  found  it,  she  came 
back  to  her  seat. 

"The  Nixon  party  got  off  all  right,  I  s'pose," 
said  Betsy.  "Mr.  Nixon  came  over  to  say 
good-by.  Did  you  know  Mr.  Derwent  took 
supper  with  the  cap'n  and  me  one  night?" 

"Yes.  He  is  greatly  taken  with  Captain 
Salter." 

"We  had  a  real  good  time,"  said  Betsy, 
"and  he  praised  the  supper." 

"There  are  no  suppers  as  good  as  yours. 
Nixie  and  I  had  made  him  hungry  telling  him 
about  the  dinner  we  had  with  you  that  day." 

379 


Clever  Betsy 


"And  my  boy  never  broke  bread  with  me 
once,"  said  Betsy  sadly.  "I  could  n't  ask  him 
away  from  Mrs.  Bruce." 

"Betsy,"  asked  Rosalie  wistfully,  "what 
ever  did  happen?" 

Betsy  shook  her  head.  "Nothin'  you  need 
worry  about,  child." 

"But  that's  just  what  troubles  me.  I've 
always  believed  it  was  about  me." 

"Rosalie,"  —Betsy  lifted  her  eyes  from  her 
work  for  a  minute,  —  "do  you  know  it  says  in 
the  Bible  that  God  makes  the  wrath  o'  man 
to  praise  him?  or  somethin'  like  that?  I've 
thought  of  it  often  since  I've  been  livin'  here. 
There  had  to  be  some  kind  of  an  explosion  for 
Hiram  to  get  his  rights.  I  see  now  he's  only 
got  his  rights." 

"But  one  thing  is  very  strange,"  said 
Rosalie.  "The  few  times  I've  spoken  with 
Mrs.  Bruce  this  summer,  she  has  been  quite 
polite  to  me.  Do  you  know  about  this  cousin 
who  is  with  her,  this  cunning  little  Miss  Frost, 
more  like  a  canary-bird  than  any  one  I  ever 
saw?  Well,  she  adores  Mrs.  Bruce,  and  do  you 
know  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  Mrs.  Bruce 
is  trying  to  live  up  to  it.  Would  n't  that  be 
strange?" 

380 


Good-by,  Summer 


Betsy  dropped  her  work  and  regarded  the 
speaker. 

"Miss  Lavinia  Frost,  —  I  know  her  well. 
She  don't  seem  to  wear  spectacles,  but  she's 
got  a  pair  on  all  the  time.  Rose-color.  Mrs. 
Bruce  went  out  to  her  rooms  once  and  she 
did  n't  like  the  looks  of  'em,  and  she  took 
one  of  her  notions  and  fixed  'em  up  with  a 
handsome  stove,  and  an  arm-chair,  and  some 
other  nice  things,  and  Miss  Frost  never  could 
get  over  it." 

"Mrs.  Bruce  is  going  to  keep  her  with  her." 

"Fine!"  exclaimed  Betsy.  "Nothin'  could 
be  better."  She  shook  her  head  and  resumed 
her  work.  "Here's  hopin'  Miss  Frost '11  never 
lose  those  magnifyin'  spectacles!" 

"You  never  saw  any  one  admire  another 
more  sincerely.  Why,  she  takes  it  for  granted 
that  Mrs.  Bruce  made  me,  and  is  in  love  with 
her  work." 

Betsy  dropped  her  hands. 

"'God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way, 
His  wonders  to  perform  ! ' ' 

she  declared.  "Rosalie,"  she  added  gently, 
"I  would  n't  wonder  one  mite  if  Lavinia  Frost 
livin'  with  Mrs.  Bruce  would  be  the  makin'  o' 
her.  What  do  we  all  want?  We  want  love. 

381 


Clever  Betsy 


Mrs.  Bruce  has  n't  drawn  it  to  herself  from 
the  folks  that's  lived  closest  to  her.  She's  had 
some  sharp  lessons,  from  what  Mr.  Irving  says, 
and  now,  when  the  plough's  gone  deep,  and 
the  soil's  softer,  this  cheerful  little  lover  may 
be  takin'  her  just  at  the  right  time,  and  will 
make  a  big  difference  in  her." 

"Why,  I  seem  to  see  it  begin,"  returned 
Rosalie.  "She's  so  much  more  gentle,  and 
Miss  Frost  chirps  and  twitters  around  her, 
and  waits  on  her — " 

Betsy  nodded.  "That's  right,"  she  said 
with  satisfaction.  "That's  good.  She  loves 
bein'  made  of.  I  b'lieve  that'll  work  well." 

There  was  another  silence,  which  Betsy  broke. 

"I  understand  you've  got  somethin'  for 
me,"  she  said. 

The  girl  looked  around,  puzzled. 

"Why,  —  why  no,  Betsy." 

"Mr.  Irving  says  so." 

Rosalie  regarded  her  calmly,  but  the  faint 
color  deepened  in  her  cheeks. 

"I  don't  know  what  he  means." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  who  else  should." 
Betsy  took  a  letter  out  of  her  pocket  and 
tossed  it  across  to  her  guest,  who  opened  it, 
and  read :  — 

382 


Good-by,  Summer 


DEAR  BETSY,  —  I'm  feeling  very  import 
ant  because  they've  wired  for  me  from  the 
bank.  I  can't  even  run  over  to  the  cottage 
to  see  you,  because  I  must  make  a  train.  I've 
asked  Rosalie  to  give  you  a  hug  for  me.  Good- 
by.  Your  devoted 

BOY. 

"Oh,  you  mean  that,"  said  Rosalie  quietly, 
refolding  the  note. 

"Of  course  I  mean  that.  Do  you  suppose  I 
want  to  be  cheated  out  o'  his  hugs?" 

The  girl  smiled  and  shook  her  head.  "I 
certainly  have  n't  any  of  them,"  she  said. 

"But  he  found  time  to  go  over  and  say 
good-by  to  you,  I  notice." 

"Yes,  he  came.  Mrs.  Bruce  and  Miss  Frost 
are  to  follow  him  in  a  day  or  two." 

"What  do  you  think  o'  the  young  man,  now 
you've  summered  him?"  asked  Betsy  quietly. 

"  If  I  did  n't  think  well  of  him  I  'd  never 
dare  to  tell  you  so." 

"Perhaps  not.  Has  he  been  specially  atten 
tive  to  any  one  o'  the  girls  at  the  inn?" 

Rosalie  twisted  the  curtain  tassel  and  looked 
out  at  the  sea. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  after  some  moments. 

383 


Clever  Betsy 


"If  I  had  n't  known  —  if  you  had  n't  told  me 
that  —  even  if  he  were,  the  ending  of  the  sum 
mer  would  end  his  remembrance,  I  might  have 
been  —  well,  pretty  silly  a  good  many  times." 

Betsy  looked  up.  "I  hope  I  have  n't  made 
a  mistake,  or  spoiled  any  o'  your  good  times, 
dear." 

"No,"  answered  the  girl.  "I've  been  more 
than  glad  of  all  your  warnings.  Everybody 
has  been  so  kind,  and  there  have  been  so  many 
people  who  wanted  to  do  things  for  me,  that 
it  was  made  easy  in  one  way.  I  could  avoid 
him  without  it's  looking  strange  to  him,  or 
any  one  else." 

"Was  there,"  asked  Betsy,  "was  there  any 
other  o'  the  young  men  that  you  liked  —  just 
as  well?" 

Rosalie  turned  and  gave  her  a  look.  There 
was  the  darkening  of  the  eyes  that  Betsy 
remembered,  and  the  lip  was  caught  under 
the  girl's  teeth. 

Betsy  fumbled  with  her  darning-egg,  dropped 
her  eyes,  and  cleared  her  throat. 

"That  child  won't  ever  learn  to  be  mejum!" 
she  thought. 

"You've  worked  and  played  pretty  hard, 
I  guess,"  she  said,  presently.  "You're  some 

384 


Good-by,  Summer 


thin,  Rosalie.  I've  been  noticin'  it  lately.  I 
hope  you  feel  real  good." 

"Never  better,"  was  the  reply.  "I'm  eager 
to  go  to  work  —  real  work.  I  hope  I  can  make 
the  girls  like  me." 

"Law,  child,  you'll  have  to  fight  'em  off," 
was  the  reply.  "Did  —  did  you  and  Mr. 
Irving  part  real  friendly?" 

"Oh,  certainly.  I  must  show  you  something 
he  gave  me  a  good  while  ago." 

The  girl  rose  and  went  to  her  own  room. 
Betsy  laid  down  her  work  and  gazed  ahead. 
"Ain't  she  made  o'  the  real  stuff,  though!" 
she  thought.  "I  guess  Irving  Bruce  has  found 
out  that  porcelain's  pretty  strong  sometimes!" 

Here  Rosalie  returned  and  put  into  her 
friend's  hands  an  exquisite  white  fan,  whose 
carved  sticks  Betsy  examined  with  admiration. 

"If  he's  given  you  this?"  she  said,  looking 
up  questioningly. 

"He  had  to,  I  suppose,"  returned  the  girl, 
"practically;  he  broke  mine  the  first  night  we 
met  at  the  inn.  It  was  part  of  my  outfit.  I 
could  n't  object  to  his  making  it  good." 

Betsy  laughed  at  the  prosaic  tone,  and  looked 
back  at  the  rich  toy. 

"He  made  it  good,  all  right,"  she  remarked. 
385 


Clever  Betsy 


"When  you  need  another  outfit  you  can  pawn 
this." 

"It  is  very  handsome,"  said  Rosalie,  re 
garding  her  possession,  while  the  downcast 
eyes  darkened  again  under  their  drooping  lids. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    NEW   YEAR 

AUTUMN  with  its  crystalline  days  and  frosty 
nights  gave  Betsy  glorious  views  from  her 
windows,  but  played  havoc  with  her  garden. 

Hiram  had  long  ago  put  up  his  boat,  and 
now  he  began  building  a  small  launch  that 
Irving  Bruce  had  ordered  for  the  following 
season. 

With  Thanksgiving  Day  came  Rosalie. 
Hiram  brought  her  home  from  the  station  in 
high  satisfaction,  and  it  seemed  as  if  Betsy 
could  never  hear  enough  of  her  pleasant  work 
in  the  school. 

"I'm  bein'  awful  mean  and  selfish,"  an 
nounced  Betsy.  "I  have  n't  asked  one  person 
to  dinner  with  us.  Seems  if  we  could  n't  share 
our  little  girl  with  anybody  else  to-day." 

"Yes,"  said  Hiram,  "seems  if  some  special 
dispensation  o'  common  sense  had  been  given 
Betsy,  for  our  benefit,  Rosalie.  I'll  have  ye 
know  I  keep  an  asylum.  Never  know  any  day 
I  come  home  to  dinner  who  I'll  find  here. 

387 


Clever  Betsy 


They  get  their  Thanksgivin'  three  hundred 
and  sixty-four  days  a  year.  I  maintain  we 
deserve  the  sixty-fifth." 

"Don't  be  such  a  goose,  Hiram,"  laughed 
his  wife.  "This  is  all  'cause  Mrs.  Pogram 
wanted  to  see  you  to-day,  Rosalie.  I  told  her 
you  were  comin'  for  the  whole  Christmas 
vacation,  and  she  should  see  you  then." 

During  dinner  Rosalie  told  many  things 
about  the  school  and  her  work,  and  afterward 
the  trio  sat  around  an  open  fire  while  the  first 
snow  of  the  season  flung  its  stars  upon  the 
window-panes. 

"Do  you  hear  from  any o'  the  Boston  folks?" 
asked  Betsy. 

:<Yes,  I  have,  once  or  twice.  I  must  show 
you  some  pictures  I  brought.  They're  in  my 


suit-case." 


Rosalie  ran  upstairs  to  the  cold  little  white 
room. 

"Do  you  know,  Betsy,"  said  Hiram,  as  he 
sat  in  a  corner  where  the  smoke  from  his  pipe 
curled  up  the  chimney  with  that  of  the  blazing 
logs,  "do  you  know  I  used  to  think  last  sum 
mer  Irvin'  Bruce  was  as  set  on  Rosalie  as  I  am 
on  you.  I  minded  my  own  business,  but  I 
was  n't  blind;  and  b'gosh  I  was  surprised  that 

388 


The  New  Year 


he  let  her  teach  school  this  winter.  D'ye  s'pose 
she  could  'a'  given  him  the  mitten?" 

"No,  I  don't,  Hiram.  Pshaw!  You  know 
how  young  men  tag  after  a  pretty  girl  who  can 
sing  and  dance  and  cut  up  and  amuse  'em. 
When  it  comes  to  marryin',  folks  like  the 
Bruces  want  some  one  in  their  own  set.  Mr. 
Irving — " 

"Here  they  are,"  said  Rosalie,  returning. 
"Irving  Bruce  had  some  of  our  kodaks  en 
larged.  He  said  I  might  keep  these,  so  I 
brought  them.  I  knew  Captain  Salter  would 
like  to  see  himself  as  others  see  him." 

The  Clever  Betsy  was  indeed  immortalized. 
There  were  pictures  of  her  exterior  and  interior; 
and  her  captain  held  his  pipe  in  his  hand  as 
he  looked  upon  the  excellent  likenesses  of 
himself  and  his  passengers.  Gay,  smiling  pic 
tures  they  were,  except  for  his  own  dark 
countenance;  and  in  each  photograph  in  which 
Irving  Bruce  appeared,  he  was  next  to  Ro 
salie. 

The  captain  gave  his  wife  a  look  of  which 
she  was  conscious,  but  which  she  refused  to 
receive. 

"Set  be  hanged,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

"What?"  asked  Rosalie.  "Aren't  they 
389 


Clever  Betsy 


good?  I'm  going  to  leave  one  of  them  with 
you  and  Betsy.  Now,  choose." 

"This  one,  then!"  returned  the  captain. 

In  it  Rosalie  had  one  knee  on  the  seat.  Her 
wavy  hair  was  flying  in  a  halo,  and  she  was 
laughing.  Close  behind  her  was  Irving  Bruce. 
He  was  standing,  his  arm  outstretched  in  some 
gesture. 

"That  is  n't  my  choice,"  said  Betsy.  "I'd 
rather  have  this." 

She  picked  up  a  photograph  of  the  Clever 
Betsy  under  full  sail.  Gallantly  she  was  breast 
ing  a  high  sea. 

"Why  in  the  world!"  objected  Hiram;  and 
she  caught  his  eyes  with  an  expression  he 
seldom  saw. 

"Don't  you  want  the  children?"  he  began. 

She  smiled  a  little.  "I've  no  objection  to 
the  children,"  she  answered,  "but  I  want  — 
the  boat." 

Hiram  gazed  at  her  with  slow  comprehension, 
then  he  dropped  the  photographs  and  smoothed 
his  wife's  hair  as  she  bent  over  her  choice. 

"That's  right,"  he  said  radiantly.  "That's 
your  story,  Rosalie,"  handing  a  photograph 
to  her.  "This  is  ours." 

The  girl  looked  at  the  pair,  wondering,  and 
390 


The  New  Year 


wistful.  She  had  not  learned  that  the  heart 
is  never  old. 

"Tell  us  more  news  from  Boston,"  said 
Betsy  when  they  were  again  settled  around 
the  fire,  Rosalie  on  a  low  stool  pressed  close 
to  her  side. 

"It  is  all  pleasant.  I  had  such  an  amusing 
letter  from  Nixie.  He  says  Helen  is  swimming 
to  the  top  of  the  social  wave,  that  his  mother 
is  busier  than  a  hen  with  one  chicken,  and  that 
he  himself  sobs  heavily  in  corners  owing  to 
her  neglect.  He  says  the  Bruce  household  is 
serene,  all  but  Miss  Frost,  who  is  too  happy 
to  be  serene.  If  she  has  one  drive  a  week  with 
Mrs.  Bruce  in  her  electric,  he  says  she  talks 
about  her  cousin's  generosity  the  next  six 
days.  Nixie  says  Mrs.  Bruce  seems  really 
ashamed  to  complain  of  anything — " 

"There,"  interpolated  Betsy  gladly;  "it's 
workinV 

"Yes,"  said  Rosalie,  "such  a  cheery  little 
woman  is  a  sermon.  It  makes  me  think  of  some 
verses  I  have  seen :  — 

"'Just  being  happy  is  a  fine  thing  to  do; 

Looking  at  the  bright  side,  rather  than  the  blue; 
Sad  or  sunny  musing,  is  largely  in  the  choosing, 
And  just  being  happy  is  brave  work  and  true.'" 

391 


Clever  Betsy 


"That's  gospel,  that  is,"  remarked  Hiram. 
"You  learn  that,  Betsy,  and  say  it  to  me  every 
time  you  plan  to  have  Mrs.  Pogram  to  dinner." 

Rosalie  went  back  to  her  school-work  with 
good  courage,  refreshed  by  the  visit  to  her 
friends.  Early  in  December  she  received  a 
formal  but  kind  note  from  Mrs.  Nixon  asking 
her  to  spend  the  Christmas  holidays  with  her. 

She  smiled  as  she  read  it.  Mr.  Derwent  was 
behind  the  invitation,  she  knew,  and  Robert 
reinforced  it  by  one  of  his  hare-brained  but 
hearty  epistles,  begging  her  to  accept,  and 
promising  her  a  luridly  enthralling  experience. 

She  was  glad  she  could  tell  them  that  her 
promise  was  given  to  Betsy  for  the  holidays. 
There  would  be  a  strange  pleasure,  she  thought, 
in  seeing  her  summer  playground  in  the  em 
brace  of  winter.  The  starry  Thanksgiving 
snow  had  vanished  by  morning;  but  now, 
Betsy  said,  the  great  rock  near  the  cottage 
looked  like  a  giant's  wedding-cake. 

The  weeks  wore  on,  and  the  evergreen  time 
drew  near.  On  Christmas  morning  Rosalie 
wakened  in  her  white  room  under  the  eaves 
of  the  Salter  house.  It  had  been  furnished 
with  an  air-tight  stove  in  honor  of  her  visit, 
and  Betsy  came  in  early  to  make  a  roaring  fire. 

392 


The  New  Year 


"Merry  Christmas,  Betsy!"  cried  the  girl, 
sitting  up. 

"It  will  be,  child,"  returned  Betsy,  "with 
you  for  a  treat."  She  kissed  her  guest.  :'You 
look  like  Aurora,"  she  added,  in  irrepressible 
admiration  of  the  girl's  soft  coloring  in  the 
white  couch.  "I  know,  'cause  I  saw  her  pic 
ture  in  Europe  till  I  knew  her  as  well  as  any 
body  in  the  family  album.  To  think  you 
might  have  waked  up  in  the  Nixon  house  this 
mornin'!  You  could  'a'  run  around  in  auto 
mobiles,  and  danced,  and  had  a  real  girl's 
good  time;  and  here  you  are,  mewed  up  with 
two  homespun  folks  like  us,  in  a  snow-bank, 
with  the  ocean  for  a  front  yard,  black  enough 
to  bite  you!  I  felt  guilty  when  I  waked  up. 
Honestly,  I  did." 

"Well,  stop  it,  Betsy.  This  is  the  one  place 
in  the  world  I  want  to  be  these  holidays.  Do 
you  believe  me?" 

Betsy  shook  her  head.  "It  seems  too  good 
to  be  true;  but  your  eyes  do  look  as  if  you 
meant  it.  Here 's  a  big  can  o'  hot  water,  dear, 
and  when  you  come  down,  I'll  give  you  some 
buckwheat  cakes  as  good  as  you  ever  tasted." 

Betsy  had  maligned  the  landscape.  Rosalie 
looked  out  on  spotless  snow,  but  all  the  trees 

393 


Clever  Betsy 


visible  along  the  village  street  were  cased  in 
ice.  Every  twig  sparkled  as  the  sun  gained 
dominion  over  the  sullen  sea,  and  shone  on 
the  dazzling,  mammoth  wedding-cake. 

The  week  passed  quickly  and  happily.  Mrs. 
Pogram  gave  a  dinner  for  the  Salters  and  their 
guest,  after  Loomis  and  his  fiancee  had  re 
turned  to  Portland.  Captain  Salter  made 
Rosalie  recite  to  him  the  verses  in  praise  of 
happiness,  all  the  time  he  was  marching  to 
the  function. 

It  was  a  season  of  content.  Betsy  could  not 
doubt  it  as  she  looked  at  the  deepening  roses 
in  the  girl's  cheeks,  and  the  way  her  eyes 
sparkled  as  she  came  into  the  house,  stamping 
the  snow  from  her  boots,  on  the  return  from 
some  errand  with  Hiram. 

Mr.  Beebe,  learning  of  her  presence,  took 
the  biggest  sleigh  from  the  inn  stable  and  gave 
them  a  long  exhilarating  ride  into  the  country, 
and  an  oyster  supper  when  they  returned. 

On  the  last  evening  of  the  year  Rosalie  sat 
before  the  open  fire  with  Betsy.  Captain 
Salter  had  gone  out  on  some  errand  in  the 
village,  and  Rosalie,  on  her  favorite  little  stool, 
leaned  her  head  against  Betsy's  knee  and 
watched  the  leaping  flames.  How  remote,  on 

394 


The  New  Year 


an  evening  like  this,  seemed  the  great  world 
from  this  little  cottage-by-the-sea ! 

"One  has  so  much  time  here,  to  think, 
Betsy,"  said  the  girl. 

The  other  gave  her  one-sided  smile.  "Well, 
yes,  —  holidays,  we  do,"  she  rejoined. 

"You  are  always  busy,"  admitted  Rosalie. 
"How  happy  you  and  the  captain  are!" 

"We  think  we  could  n't  be  happier,"  re 
turned  Betsy.  "It's  been  a  wonderful  year 
for  both  you  and  me,  Rosalie." 

"Yes,  it  has,"  returned  the  girl  dreamily. 
"A  year  ago  to-night  —  No!  I  must  forget 
all  that." 

Betsy  patted  her  shoulder.  :< Yesterday  is 
dead,"  she  said  quietly. 

Rosalie's  eyes  lifted  slowly  to  the  other's 
face. 

"  Not  all  the  yesterdays,"  she  said,  and  looked 
back  at  the  fire. 

Betsy  continued  to  pat  her.  The  good 
woman  reflected  concerning  Irving  Bruce  with 
an  effort  at  self-control  and  fairness;  but  a 
great  longing  that  this  girl  should  have  her 
heart's  desire  passed  over  her  like  a  wave. 

A  crunching  of  the  snow  sounded  without. 
If  Rosalie  had  been  intending  to  confide  in 

395 


Clever  Betsy 


her,  the  chance  was  lost.  For  the  first  time 
Betsy  regretted  to  hear  her  husband's  step. 

"There's  Captain  Salter,"  said  Rosalie. 

The  door  opened.  "Come  in  and  get  dry," 
said  Betsy,  without  looking  around.  She  felt 
compunction  for  her  momentary  disloyalty. 

"Thanks,  I  don't  care  if  I  do." 

The  women  both  started  and  turned.  Irving 
Bruce  stood  there,  his  broad  shoulders  spark 
ling  with  snow.  He  set  down  his  suit-case  and 
stamped  his  feet.  "You'll  have  to  build  a 
porte-cochere,  Betsy.  The  hack  dumped  me 
at  the  back  fence." 

The  firelight  fell  on  Rosalie  as  she  stood, 
flushing. 

"Mr.  Irving,  dear!"  cried  Betsy,  flying  at 
him,  considerations  of  hostess  and  friend 
stumbling  over  one  another  in  the  sudden 
chaos  of  her  mind.  "What  does  this  mean?" 

"I  just  thought  I'd  run  down  and  see  the 
New  Year  in  with  you.  Where  are  your  man 
ners,  Rosalie?  You  might  say  you're  glad  to 


see  me." 


Betsy  saw  his  eyes  and  rejoiced. 
"Of  course  I  am,"  returned  the  girl,  "but 
we  country  people  are  n't  used  to  shocks." 
He  left  his   fur-lined  overcoat    in    Betsy's 
396 


The  New  Year 


arms,  unconscious  that  he  was  burdening  her; 
and  she  clasped  it  to  her  breast  as  if  it  had  been 
part  of  himself.  Her  boy  and  her  girl !  Her  boy 
and  her  girl!  And  they  were  standing  there, 
their  hands  clasping,  and  their  eyes  meeting. 

Irving  had  not  taken  the  uninteresting 
journey  from  Boston,  and  ploughed  through 
the  Fairport  snow  to  see  the  New  Year  in 
with  her.  He  had  not  broken  away  from  the 
holiday  gayeties  of  which  Betsy  had  experi 
ence,  to  visit  herself  and  Hiram  in  their  snow 
drift.  Betsy's  heart  exulted,  and  her  cheeks 
were  red. 

"  Sit  up  to  the  fire,  Mr.  Irving.  I  'm  goin'  to 
make  you  some  coffee,"  she  said. 

"I  did  n't  ask  if  you  had  any  room  for  me, 
but  a  blizzard  seems  to  be  starting.  I  can't 
go  to  the  inn,  now." 

"I  guess  I  can  put  you  somewhere.  If  you 
don't  like  the  accommodations  you  can  sit 
up  all  night.  There's  plenty  o'  logs  in  the 
wood-box." 

"I  rather  think  I  should  like  that.  Have 
to  see  the  New  Year  in,  anyway.  No  use  mak 
ing  two  bites  of  a  cherry." 

Just  as  the  coffee  was  being  poured,  Captain 
Salter  came  in.  "My,  but  that  smells  good!" 

397 


Clever  Betsy 


he  said ;  then,  perceiving  the  new-comer  — 
"Irvin'  Bruce,  is  that  you?"  he  roared  jovi 
ally.  "Well,  you're  a  good  one.  You'll  be 
disappointed  though.  I  have  n't  got  the  boat 
far  enough  along  yet  for  you  to  tell  anything 
about  it.  I  know  you  said  you  'd  run  up  here, 
but  I  calc'lated  to  let  you  know  when." 

"Too  bad,"  returned  Irving.  "I  hope  you 
don't  mind  my  coming,  though." 

"Tickled  to  death,  tickled  to  death,"  re 
sponded  Hiram,  receiving  his  coffee  from  his 
wife's  hand  and  with  it  a  look  which  made  him 
blink  once  or  twice  in  doubt. 

"See  the  New  Year  in?  Yes  indeed,"  he 
cried  in  answer  to  Irving's  explanation  of  his 
presence.  "That's  just  what  we'll  do.  I 
haven't  set  up  in  years;  but  we'll  just  sit 
around  this  fire,  and  tell  yarns  — : 

"Hiram  Salter,"  said  his  wife,  "if  you  think 
for  one  minute  that  we're  goin'  to  do  any  such 
thing,  I  don't.  I've  got  to  get  up  and  get  the 
breakfast,  and  you've  got  to  get  up  and  build 
fires.  As  if  we  could  n't  trust  the  New  Year 
to  come  in  respectably;  and  if  you  can't,  why, 
Rosalie  and  Mr.  Irving  will  attend  to  it." 

The  captain  looked  at  her,  astonished. 
Under  cover  of  removing  the  cups  and  saucers 

398 


The  New  Year 


to  the  kitchen,  he  spoke  low  to  his  consort. 
"Go  to  bed?"  he  asked.  "Where's  your 
politeness,  Betsy?" 

"Where's  your  common  sense,  Hiram  Sal- 
ter!  You  think  Irving  Bruce  has  ploughed 
down  here  to  talk  boats  with  you?" 

Hiram  scratched  his  head,  and  his  eyes 
widened.  "Why,  I  said  that  very  thing  to  you 
the  other  night,"  he  protested,  "and  you 
said—" 

"Never  mind  what  I  said!  Just  get  up 
stairs  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"Come  with  me,  Mr.  Irving,"  said  Betsy, 
returning  to  the  living-room.  "Here's  a  little 
closet  where  you  can't  much  more'n  turn 
around,  but  I  guess  you'll  sleep  well.  It's  a 
feather-bed." 

They  stood  alone  in  the  chamber,  and  he 
closed  the  door  and  took  her  by  the  shoulders 
in  the  old  familiar  way. 

"You  remember  our  talk  one  night  in  the 
garden?"  he  asked. 

:'Yes,  as  if  it  was  yesterday,"  she  answered. 

"Do  you  apologize?" 

"No,"  she  laughed. 

"  I  think  you  poisoned  the  mind  of  the  party 
of  the  second  part.  Confess  if  you  did.  I 

399 


Clever  Betsy 


mean  it;  for  if  you  did  n't,  I  've  broken  three  en 
gagements,  and  traveled  all  day  for  nothing." 

"Yes  —  I  —  did!"  returned  Betsy  boldly. 

"Do  you  apologize?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it." 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  the  dusk. 
"Well,  are  you  glad  I  came?" 

"If  you  had  n't,  Mr.  Irving,"  replied  Betsy 
slowly,  "I  don't  know  but  I'd  'a'  given  back 
the  silver!" 

Irving  pressed  her  hands  and  laughed. 

In  a  little  while  the  Salters  said  good-night 
to  their  guests.  "You  can  see,  Irvin',  whether 
I'm  hen-pecked,"  said  the  captain  meekly, 
as  he  mounted  the  stairs. 

"You're  an  awful  warning,"  replied  Irving. 

"Would  it  do  any  harm,"  asked  Hiram  in  a 
stage-whisper  when  they  reached  their  room, 
"if  I  should  yell  down  to  'em  to  look  out  the 
window  and  see  the  weddin'-cake?" 

Betsy  locked  the  door. 

Rosalie  was  sitting  passive  on  her  stool  by 
the  fire.  A  rich  color  mantled  in  her  cheeks, 
but  eyes  and  lips  were  grave.  She  was  regain 
ing  self-possession.  Perhaps  Irving  had  indeed 
come  on  account  of  the  boat. 

He  seated  himself  in  the  chair  Betsy  had 
400 


The  New  Year 


vacated,   and  watched  the  firelight  play  on 
Rosalie's  hair. 

"How  do  you  suppose  it  looks  in  the  can 
yon  to-night?"  he  asked,  after  a  silence. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  'm  glad  we  can't  see." 

"And  I,"  he  agreed.  "I  have  it  here."  He 
touched  his  breast. 

"Tell  me  about  Nixie,  and  Helen,"  said 
Rosalie  with  sudden  brightness. 

"Time  enough  for  that  next  year,"  returned 
Irving.  He  laid  his  watch  on  his  knee;  and  for 
a  minute  they  both  watched  the  tiny  second 
hand,  inexorably  hurrying. 

"How  quiet  it  is!"  he  said.  "What  a  place 
for  the  year  to  die.  I  have  a  kindness  for  this 
old  year,  Rosalie.  I  should  dread  to  see  it  go 
if  I  did  n't  have  such  hopes  for  the  new." 

'  Yes,  your  business  prospects  are  brilliant, 
Mr.  Derwent  told  me  once." 

"Betsy  Foster,"  said  Irving  slowly,  "'Clever 
Betsy,'  that  deep,  dark,  deceitful,  and  de 
signing  woman  who  is  upstairs  now,  wide 
awake,  wondering  what  I  am  saying  to  you, 
talked  to  you  once  about  me,  and  told  you 
to  remember  that  men  were  deceivers  ever. 
She  warned  you  against  me.  She's  given  me 
an  up-hill  pull  all  summer." 

401 


Clever  Betsy 


Rosalie's  heart  fluttered  wildly. 

"I  wasn't  sure  until  I  had  been  back  in 
Boston  for  weeks  that  I  loved  you;  but  I  sus 
pected  it.  I  know  that  I  have  nothing  more 
than  a  fair  chance,  if  I  have  that;  but  I'm  sure 
now,  Rosalie,  that  you  are  the  one  woman  in 
the  world  for  me.  You're  the  combination  of 
everything  I  ever  admired  in  any  girl.  If  there 
is  no  one  that  has  a  better  right,  give  me  the 
chance  to  win  you.  I  Ve  come  here  to  ask  you 
that." 

She  sat  so  immovable  that  Irving  stooped 
forward.  The  face  she  lifted  had  the  darkening 
eyes,  the  trembling  lips,  that  Betsy  had  seen. 

"When  you  caught  me  from  the  cliff,"  she 
said,  "I  felt  your  heart  beat.  The  sunrise  in 
the  canyon  was  the  sunrise  of  my  life.  Every 
pulse  of  my  heart  since  that  morning  has 
beaten  with  the  pulse  of  yours." 

He  looked  at  her,  wonder,  incredulity,  joy, 
holding  him  motionless  for  a  space;  then  in 
the  still,  snow-bound  cottage,  golden  with  fire 
light,  Rosalie's  lover  took  her  in  his  arms. 
"My  dove!"  he  murmured. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


WHEN  SHE  CAME  HOME 
FROM  COLLEGE 

By  MARIAN  K.  HURD  and  JEAN  B.  WILSON 


"An  especially  natural  and  breezy  college  girl's 
story."  — Baltimore  Sun. 

"A  book  of  vital  interest  to  the  college  girl,  to  her 
family,  and  to  all  who  are  concerned  directly  or  indi 
rectly  in  college  education  for  girls." 

Hartford  Courant. 

"  Deserves  high  commendation,  both  for  its  lessons  of 
wisdom,  and  the  wholesome  satire  of  its  fun  —  a  book 
with  much  charm."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Not  for  a  long  while  have  we  read  such  a  refreshing 
narrative  as  this."  —  Literary  Digest. 


Illustrated.     12 mo,  $1.15  net.     Postage  10  cents. 


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NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA 

By  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGG1N 


"  Rebecca  is  the  same  likable  and  lovable  girl  as  ever.  .  .  . 
It  is  her  good-nature  and  geniality,  her  almost  uninterrupted 
happiness,  that  gives  her  an  unlimited  attractiveness.  She  is 
the  embodiment  of  actual  girlhood.  She  is  as  alive  as  any  char 
acter  can  be  within  the  imaginative  pages  of  fiction." 

Boston  Transcript. 

"  One  cannot  avoid  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  some  of  the  epi 
sodes  are  autobiographical,  but,  whether  founded  on  fact  or 
imagined,  they  make  delightful  reading,  and  worthily  maintain 
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tion  of  American  and  English  readers  much  that  Miss  Alcott 
did  for  its  predecessor." 

Spectator >  London. 

"  Rebecca  belongs  to  us  and  to  our  century  as  did  Little  Nell 
to  the  days  of  Dickens.  She  is  like  a  May  morning,  or  a  bright 
June  day,  or  an  April  promise.  She  has  her  smiles  and  her 
tears,  her  little  hopes  and  fears  and  longings  and  ambitions  — 
but  after  all  is  said  —  she  is  just  Rebecca." 

Portland  Daily  Press. 

With  eight  illustrations  by  F.  C.  YOHN 

I2mo,  $1.25 


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RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-70m-9,'65(F7151s4)458 


N°  410446 

PS1219 

Burnham,  C.L.R.          B4 
Clever  Betsy.          C5 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


